GS-59 Young Girl Sex Club by Andrew Laird


Chapter 1


In the Hip Room there wasn't even elbow room, but no one seemed to 
mind. There were many other attractions. There was noise, confusion, 
smoke (not all of it from tobacco) and the pungent smells of unwashed 
bodies, stale beer, cheap wine and vomit. There was long, unkempt hair, 
beards, bare bellies above hip-huggers and bare thighs below 
abbreviated miniskirts. There were many dirty feet, both bare and 
sandaled, and many grimy hands.

In one corner, where it squatted like the insane, plastic monster it 
was, a jukebox taxed its mechanical lungs and electric vocal cords to 
the utmost, bellowing out the frenzied beat of a rock group to make 
itself heard above the witless, jabbering din that rose in a mad 
cacophony from the crowd.

The final touch to this man-made inferno was supplied by multicolored, 
wildly unsynchronized strobe lights that were strung along the low 
ceiling.

No torture chamber devised for the specific purpose of driving its 
hapless victims to madness could have compared in devilish ingenuity of 
the Hip Room.

To Ellen Canfield, however, it was all very exciting. It was her first 
experience in a place if its kind and, although she felt both out of 
place and somewhat frightened, she was enjoying herself immensely. She 
turned to convey this information to her escort, only to discover that 
he had managed to slip away from her unnoticed. She thought she could 
see the back of his blond head through the haze of smoke and was 
temporarily reassured. She supposed he was trying to squirm his way 
through the densely packed crowd to get drinks from the bar. Vaguely 
she worried about where he would sit when he returned. The space he had 
occupied on the bench at the long table beside her was now taken by 
another person; whether man or woman she could not be sure, for all she 
could see was the back of a head with its shoulder-length, brown hair. 
He solved the matter of his sex by turning toward her, revealing a 
bearded jaw and dull, glazed eyes of pale blue on either side of a 
jutting, fleshy nose.

"Here," he said, "take a hit." He offered her an inch of crudely rolled 
cigarette, the end soggy from many lips.

"What is it?" she asked, drawing away and wrinkling her nose at the 
acrid smoke. She thought she knew but couldn't be sure. She had never 
before seen marijuana. At least she was certain it did not resemble the 
neat, filter-tipped cigarettes she smoked.

"Whadaya mean, what is it?" the man demanded indignantly. "It's a 
joint. Whatcha think it is, hashish?"

She hesitated, revolted by the thought of that sodden butt between her 
lips, yet afraid of offending the one making the offer. She shifted 
uncomfortably when he took his first good look at her, and his eyes 
widened, then narrowed.

"Well, I'll be dipped in shit!" he exclaimed. "Damned if it ain't Miss 
Uptown herself. Whatcha doing down here, baby doll ... little slumming 
trip?"

Ellen blushed. Under the flashing strobes it probably was not 
noticeable, but she felt her flesh become hot, as though a blowtorch 
had been turned on her. The intensity of the hot flash rendered her 
speechless and made her a little sick. There was a terrible moment in 
which the noise, the stench and her own fear hit her like a blow to the 
solar plexus. She wondered if she would faint.

The bearded man sneered knowingly. "You fucking squares are a pain in 
the ass," he said disdainfully. "Come down here to see how the weirdos 
live ... like going to the zoo to look at the apes. Then you get all 
shook if one of us speaks to you. Whatsa matter, baby, you figure I got 
leprosy or something?"

"I'm sorry," Ellen stammered drawing as far away from him as she could, 
trying not to show her disgust or fear. "I ... I didn't mean any harm. 
I've never been to a place like this before, and I've never smoked 
marijuana. My boy friend brought me here. He's gone for drinks ... I 
think," she ended lamely.

The bearded man grinned, but it was not a friendly grin. His eyes, 
sparking now with interest, started at her feet and moved with slow and 
calculated insolence up her nylon-sheathed legs to rounded thighs 
visible below the hem of her miniskirt. They rose to the slight curve 
of her stomach and the contours of a sweetly crafted torso, revealed in 
abundant detail by the form-hugging fabric of her knit dress. They 
lingered appraisingly on the twin bulges of her breasts, then rose to 
her face, baby-round beneath the heaped meringue of her champagne-
blonde hair. He read the unmistakable fear in her blue eyes and in the 
nervous trembling of her soft, red lips. "Whenever I see a chick like 
you," he said with toneless menace, "all starched and ironed and 
strapped into place, I get the damnedest urge to mess her up. So you 
dreamed you went slumming in your Maidenhead bra and in your Playsex 
girdle, did you? I gotta notion to pull them to hell off of you and see 
what you look like with your titties flopping and your bare cunt 
hanging out."

Ellen gasped in shocked horror. "You wouldn't! You wouldn't dare! This 
is a public place! My escort will be back. He'll ... he'll ..."

The bearded man laughed unpleasantly. "You just said the wrong word, 
you goddamned phony, antiseptic, perfumed bitch. Nobody dares Max Kern. 
Hey, look what I got here," he said to the others at the table. "Smart-
assed cunt needs a lesson. Watch for that blond square she was with 
while I show this chick how we do it on Cool Street."

"No! No!" Ellen screamed as Max Kern's long-fingered dirty hands 
reached for her. "Help me!" she appealed to a hard-faced girl her own 
age who sat across from her. The girl curled a pale upper lip and, to 
Kern, said: "Why doncha take her down under the table and fuck her, 
Maxy? We'll cover for you. When her boy friend comes back, we'll tell 
him she split on him."

Ellen screamed again. Not a head turned in her direction. Screaming was 
the normal method of communication in the Hip Room. She tried to fight, 
but her efforts were futile. Not only was Max several times stronger 
than she, but by this time she was so nearly paralyzed with terror that 
all power had deserted her arms and legs. He easily held her arms 
pinned to her sides while his free hand went under the hem of her dress 
to claw at her panties. She felt the elastic give and then he had drawn 
them down to act as a hobble around her kicking ankles. Despite the 
fact that she held her legs clamped as tightly together as possible, he 
thrust hard fingers into the tender flesh of her inner thighs, 
violating for the first time the sacrosanct cleft of her crotch, 
roughly parting the hair-shrouded lips of her vagina.

She continued to scream, even though she knew it was useless. Those 
around the table were laughing and leering at her. Those in the rest of 
the place ignored her. As she felt Max Kern begin to slide under the 
table and drag her with him, her sanity left her; she was bludgeoned 
temporarily numb by the impossibility of what was happening to her. She 
was from a small town, and certainly no smarter than the average of her 
sex and she knew--just as she knew that there is a President of the 
United States, that the sun rises in every morning, and that Walter 
Cronkite comes on every evening--that one does not get raped in a 
public place among seventy or more people. She knew that, but it was 
happening anyway. Her mind, therefore unable to cope with the 
impossible, withdrew from the nightmare that was taking place, leaving 
her only enough awareness to feel pain, shame and horror.

They were on the floor under the table. Bare, willing feet found her 
arms and held them with cruel pressure against the cement floor. Her 
resistance was instinctive but feeble and futile as her dress was 
tugged and pulled until it was bunched under her armpits. Her bra 
surrendered to a savage jerk that tore the snaps loose and her panties 
were snatched the rest of the way off of her weakly thrashing legs. The 
cement was cold and hard against her bare back and buttocks. She had 
stopped screaming and only cried in a continuous, sobbing bleat of 
mindless terror.

 "How is it, Max?" A bearded face appeared upside down under the edge 
of the tablecloth.

"Don't know," Ellen's attacker grunted. "I ain't fucked her yet. But, 
man, she's got one hell of a body. Dig them big boobies."

"Yeah," the upside down one agreed. "You gonna suck her cunt, too?"

"Naw, not now. She ain't in no condition to appreciate the finer 
things. Maybe after I've broken her in I'll take her up to my pad and 
give her the full treatment. Depends on how she acts."

"How about me taking seconds on her when you're through?"

"Sure. She'll need a lot of screwing to tame her down. We got all 
afternoon. Tell the rest of the guys, too. Pussy just ain't much good 
unless it's been gang-banged. Keep a watch out for the guy she was 
with." As he talked, Max had been dropping his trousers. He wore no 
underwear. He held his long, hard cock in his hand, fondling it 
lovingly as he knelt between her legs and studied her hair-fringed 
slit.

"Okay, baby doll," he muttered as he lowered himself to her, "here's 
where you get it ... right up to the balls!" He addressed the dripping, 
throbbing head to her opening and settled himself, his bearded lips 
quivering with lust and his pale eyes glowing in anticipation as he 
hesitated one last second to savor the creamy expanse of her 
beautifully molded torso and the swelling mounds of her breasts with 
their pink and brown nipples, the softly rounded contours tremulous 
with the agitation of her sob-shaken body. He pushed the broad, 
purplish bead of his prick into her until it was lost to sight. Then, 
with a long, almost anguished "ahhh" of pleasure, he thrust down with 
all his strength, driving the bone-hard instrument into her, relishing 
the exquisite sensation of her flesh parting or tearing as it was 
shouldered aside by his ruthlessly rapacious root.

Ellen screamed again, but the hard-eyed girl who had been across the 
table from her was bending down so that she could watch. Expecting the 
scream, she effectively muffled it by putting a bare, dirty foot in 
Ellen's open mouth. She kept her foot there for a while, then 
transferred it to one of the exposed breasts, roughly massaging it and 
sometimes pinching the nipple with a prehensile big toe. As she peered 
under the uplifted edge of the tablecloth, her face was flushed; and 
her eyes shining, her breath coming in convulsive gasps. One hand was 
under her skirt, her fingers frantically manipulating her clitoris.

Had Ellen looked about her, she would have seen not only the shapely 
limbs of the hard-eyed girl, trembling to one self-induced orgasm after 
another, but that the men at the table, inflamed by the vicarious 
thrill of what they knew to be taking place right under their feet, had 
unzipped themselves and were stroking their cocks. They also cried 
encouragement to Max.

"Fuck her, man!"

"Stick it to her, Maxy!"

"Ram it clear up into her goddamn fucking guts!"

But Ellen was not aware. She knew only pain and, dimly, that she was 
naked on the floor while a man raped her, that the virginity she had 
cherished for nineteen years was being ravaged and destroyed, and that 
her oneness with herself as an entity distinct from all others was 
being annihilated. Mostly she was aware of the plunging, piston-like 
prick and the ruthlessness in which it battered her inner body, each 
thrust as agonizing as though performed by a hot poker. But even pain 
must finally reach a plateau, must suffer a surfeit of itself until it 
fails from overproduction. It lessened. She opened her eyes to the 
forest of legs, feet and dripping pricks as seen through the fringe of 
Max's rancid-smelling beard. As a child she had had nightmares, but 
none to compare with this atrocious and impossible scene. She had two 
choices ... either go completely insane with fear, or withdraw in a 
kind of stunned indifference and patiently await the moment when this 
Phantasmagoria would end.

Too tough-minded to go crazy, she lapsed into state of semi- catatonia 
in which what was being done to her body became a dim, unreal and 
distant thing. Her mind, detached from both pain and the shame of 
involvement, was free to consider her surroundings with curiosity. She 
saw the foot that massaged one of her breasts and followed up the slim, 
unclean limbs to parted thighs and gaping vulva where busy fingers 
agitated the clitoris hidden beneath the moist, pink flesh. She could 
even see the hair-shrouded, brown eye that was the girl's anus; it 
winked in time with the gasping of her pulsating vagina.

Ellen was familiar with masturbation. She had experimented with it 
during her twelfth year, but it had been her favorite sport only until 
she learned to play tennis. She tore her eyes from the performance of 
this rite to look from one to another of the men who were playing with 
the pricks under the table. Only once before in her life had she seen a 
man's prick, and that had been just before leaving home. She had walked 
in on her brother while he was in the bathroom. He had been busy 
urinating, and she had stared at his exposed organ for a second in both 
dismay and fascination before blushing violently and fleeing from room. 
That night she had dreamed that he carried a large snake coiled between 
his legs and was chasing her with it.

She next looked down to see Max's white buttocks bobbing above her hips 
and realized with astonishment that he had a cock just like those other 
men and that he was industriously sloshing it in and out of her. He was 
no longer hurting her. Her body, having turned numb, had rejected the 
pain.

Ellen did not know when her boy friend came back from the bar, a bottle 
of beer in either hand. The ones at the table informed him seriously 
and sympathetically that his girl had gotten sick, had said she was 
going home. The closely pressed bodies about the table prevented him 
from seeing what took place beneath it and Ellen had stopped screaming. 
She was no longer even crying. The young man's face turned red and he 
cursed. As he put the bottles on the table and began elbowing his way 
toward the door, the conspirators laughed, nudging and clapping each 
other on the back as they congratulated themselves on the success their 
deception.

At that moment, Max had his orgasm. The cadence of his probing 
increased, and he grunted loudly, emitting other animal noises as Ellen 
felt his hot sperm shoot into her and slush out to roll down her 
thighs. She watched with mild interest as he withdrew, noting that his 
cock was smeared with his own semen and red from her blood where he had 
torn her hymen.

"You ain't a bad fuck," he admitted, panting, "only you got a lot to 
learn. I'll let some of the other guys help break you in and then maybe 
I'll take you to my pad tonight. You act right and I'll let you stay 
with me until I get tired of you, but you got to start dropping acid 
and smoking pot like the rest of us. Hey, Joe, give me a tab of 'L'."

He accepted something from an anonymous hand that appeared under the 
table and he told Ellen to open her mouth. She did and felt a small, 
white tablet being inserted by a grimy finger. She was instructed to 
let it melt on her tongue. "When that hits you, you'll be on a helluva 
trip," he promised. "I'm gonna let Benny screw you now. He's kinda 
queer, but he likes chicks, too. After Benny, some of the other cats 
will take a crack at you. How you dig getting fucked, hunh? Groovy, 
ain't it?"

She regarded him dumbly and didn't answer. She was in a state of shock, 
her body and mind no longer able to respond to either pain or fear. Had 
he told her she was free to get up and go home, she would not have 
stirred from her place on the floor. Only a part of her mind remained 
active, but her thoughts were remote, barely connected to body.

Max shrugged indifferently, pulled his pants into place and slid out of 
her range of vision as another bearded man, a somewhat younger one, 
took his place.

"Boy!" Benny exclaimed, viewing her with awe. "You're sure a lot 
prettier than the chicks we usually get around here." He bent to kiss 
her on the mouth, the soft, blond hairs of his beard woolly and somehow 
comforting against her face. He roughly pushed aside the girl's foot, 
which still rubbed Ellen's breast, and cupped the mound with his hand. 
Then he felt down over her ribs and hip to caress her white, rounded 
thighs and touch her semen-moist vulva.

"I'm gonna suck your cunt," he declared, his face twitching with 
excitement. "I'll bet you'll like that." He turned around so that his 
head was even with her hips, then reached back to adjust his cock so 
that it rested above her breasts.

"I guess you ain't used to sucking cocks," he told her, "but you can 
hold it and play with it for me while I'm going down on you. Hey, you 
cats, get your feet off of her arm." He knocked the dirty feet away and 
Ellen, for the first time, was able to relax from the awkward position 
she had been in. She made no protest when he took her hands and cupped 
them around his prick. Because he told her to, and because she had no 
will of her own, she continued to hold his member tightly as he lowered 
his mouth to her crotch. The lapping of his tongue was so mild a 
feeling compared to being punched and torn by Max's big cock that at 
first she was hardly aware of it when he began titillating her 
clitoris. His hips moved and his prick, already dripping and smeary, 
slid easily back and forth in her tight grip.

He took his time, and she didn't mind. Now that the feet no longer 
pummeled and imprisoned her, she was fairly comfortable and his licking 
and sucking at her vulva was soothing. Furthermore, something new was 
happening to her mind. She was beginning to be affected by the drug she 
had taken. It was like drunkenness and yet not like it. There was a 
dizziness and a lightness, almost as though she were floating, and a 
gradual increase of sharpness and clarity in her perception of 
everything about her. It was, she thought with dull curiosity, as 
though she had donned glasses that magnified everything. Her face was 
only a few inches from the young man's thighs, and she suddenly saw 
each hair and pore in vivid, microscopic detail. Her other senses were 
also greatly increased. The rich, mingled smells of semen and sweat 
assailed her nostrils, and his prick was like wet, slick satin to the 
touch of her hands.

As he continued to lick her clitoris, she felt the first, faint tingle 
of returning sensation to her lower body. She was sore from the brutal 
way in which Max had assaulted her, but the richness of feeling 
inspired by the eager tongue of her new lover was driving away 
remembrance of pain. Her mind still refused to tolerate the shame and 
humiliation of her position. It blocked it out as a thing too awful to 
bear and, as she began to derive pleasure from this new thing that was 
happening to her, she concentrated on that to keep from thinking about 
the fact that she was being raped in public. To save her sanity, she 
surrendered her body, the powerful dose of LSD she had taken helping 
her make this adjustment.

The slobbering attack on her sex organ was accomplished with ravenous 
hunger and much enthusiasm, but not without expertise. Benny Morely had 
practiced the art extensively on both men and women. At twenty-one he 
had achieved his ambition to become a complete degenerate, living only 
for sex ... any kind of sex, and for dope ... any kind of dope. Oddly 
enough, he was a sensitive and generous person who would eagerly share 
himself or anything he had with someone he liked. He liked Ellen, so he 
gave to her in the only way he knew how to give. He employed all of his 
cunning to the pleasurable task of sucking her clitoris and was 
childishly delighted when he felt her straining body begin to respond 
to his efforts. He would really have preferred sucking a man, but 
licking Ellen's semen-filled cunt was almost as good as sucking Max's 
cock and, of course, there was the fun of doing it with someone new.

The tingling sensation grew to a flooding warmth of passion that spread 
out from the one focal point to Ellen's entire body. She felt it in her 
thighs and in her groin, knew it in the hardness of her nipples and in 
the straining muscles of her back as she arched herself to his mouth. 
It wrapped her in a pink mist that shut out everything else, and she 
gave herself to it gratefully. She even enjoyed the sensuous feel of 
his cock sliding back and forth through her hands.

When her passion had reached a height she would not have thought 
possible, it suddenly soared beyond that and then her hips were jerking 
convulsively, her pretty, white legs thrashing madly and her body 
pulsing with a paroxysm of lust as she came to her orgasm.

At the same time, Benny's prick swelled, strained, and then began to 
spurt, the hot, sticky stuff squirting onto Ellen's lower face and 
neck. Their cries of pleasure, too intense to bear in silence, went 
unheard above the din of the Hip Room.

"Hey, get your nose out of it, you queer bastard!" another voice was 
saying and Benny was pulled roughly away from her as another man took 
his place.

Ellen, still in a daze of post-coital lassitude, made no resistance 
when her legs were spread and another cock was thrust into her body. It 
hardly hurt at all, and she accepted the burly, sweat-smelling weight 
on her chest and belly, wrapping her arms and legs around him and 
lifting her hips to meet his lunge, her whole being concentrated on 
trying to recapture the exquisite sensation she had just experienced 
with Benny.

They kept her there under the table all afternoon, taking turns with 
her until all of the men in the group had been with her at least twice. 
They let her rest only long enough to take frequent drags from 
marijuana cigarettes. By evening she had passed out, but they didn't 
mind, continuing to sate themselves with use of her inert body. She was 
not aware when the girl with the hard eyes slid under the table to make 
love to her just as Benny Morely had done.

Ellen awoke in the small hours of the morning. She was lying on the 
filthy mattress in a strange room beside Max Kern, who snored like the 
distant whine of a power saw into his beard. They were both naked. She 
sat up and saw a candle in the dim light of the room. She found matches 
and lit it, staring at the yellow spearhead of flames as she let memory 
invade her mind, bit by bit until all of the astonishing facts were 
present and accounted for.

The one thing she saw with absolute clarity was that her adventure had 
changed her life utterly and irrevocably. She knew there was nothing to 
prevent her from getting up, dressing and going home to her apartment. 
There she could bathe, have breakfast, put on clean clothes and report 
to work as usual. No one would ever know. Oh, but they would! She would 
know! Ellen Canfield would no longer--could no longer--be the Ellen 
Canfield who had smugly thought of herself as a nice, virtuous, 
nineteen-year-old girl from a respectable, small-town family. The only 
thing that amazed her was that she could find within herself not even 
the tiniest spark of regret for the demise of that other Ellen 
Canfield.

She looked at Max's thin, knobby-kneed body sprawled beside her in the 
steady light of the candle. She remembered again what he and all of his 
friends had done to her under the table in the Hip Room. Her hips moved 
and she felt the nipples of her breasts harden with returning 
excitement. She took his limp cock in her hand and began stroking it. 
When it was hard, she tugged on it to awaken him.

"Hey, Max," she said, jerking at him, "wake up and fuck me again."



Chapter 2


Lynn Charles picked up the newspaper from the coffee table where her 
brother-in-law, Sam Dryerson, had dropped it the evening before. It was 
an act of desperation. She normally avoided reading newspapers. She 
turned to the comics, then the women's section. She was about to toss 
the paper back down when her attention was caught by a picture of a 
young girl. She was an amazingly pretty girl, Lynn thought, even though 
she had done her best to disguise the fact with long, straight hair, 
flowered, bell-bottomed pants, a sweater so tight it made her look like 
a tart, and a medallion that dangled in such a way as to call even 
further attention to her large bust. It was a human-interest story 
about what the reporter had called a "hippie love-nest tragedy." It 
seemed that one Maxwell Kern had died from an overdose of drugs, and a 
sexy picture of his teen-aged mistress could be calculated to sell a 
few newspapers. The girl, Ellen, had refused to cooperate by looking 
either tragic or regretful. She merely looked bored.

"At least she's alive," Lynn muttered aloud, "not half-dead and stuck 
in a no man's land like this."

The no man's land was the rather modern and comfortable home of her 
older sister, Shirley Dryerson. Her own "half-dead" condition was a 
slight exaggeration. She was simply bored, lonely and, in general, full 
of discontent with life. At twenty-six, Lynn had taught school for five 
years and had been married for three. On the day her divorce had become 
final, she had been notified by the school board that they did not 
intend to renew her contract as a teacher for the coming year. When 
Shirley and Sam had offered to take her in while she made the 
adjustment to her new, sharply reduced status, she had accepted 
gratefully. Now she found herself wishing she had done almost anything 
else than run scared through the first door opened to her.

The trouble was, she conceded bitterly, that Shirley and Sam both 
worked days and had no social life evenings. That left Lynn exactly 
nowhere. The rest of the trouble was, she admitted, that she, Lynn 
Charles, was a sissy who didn't have the nerve to go to a cocktail 
lounge, get herself picked up, taken to a hotel room and thoroughly 
screwed, which, of course, was what she really wanted and missed most 
of all.

"Goddamnit!" she cursed in a way that would have shocked the school 
board as much as her divorce had shocked them, "what the hell does a 
divorcee with hot pants do anyway?" It was a good question and Lynn 
wasn't the first grass widow to ask it without receiving any ready 
answer. It was midmorning. She had washed the dishes and cleaned the 
house. What now remained as a means of passing the next six hours until 
Shirley and Sam came home to eat the dinner she would prepare and then 
watch television until the late-late show? Lynn hated television as 
much as she despised newspapers. She could, she supposed, take a bath. 
Hardly an exciting prospect, but it would kill an hour.

She undressed in the bathroom, performing the unnecessary ritual of 
weighing herself. While the tub was running, she studied her nude 
reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. 
She was a redhead who had miraculously escaped the redhead's curse of 
freckles. Her skin was a golden bronze all over, for, on the few fog-
free days of the San Francisco summer, she took full advantage of the 
Dryerson sun deck at the rear of the house. She had green, slightly 
slanted eyes and a mouth that made up in sensuality for its somewhat 
overly generous proportions. She was tall and slender, but it was a 
healthy thinness, not the emaciated slenderness of a fashion model. Her 
breasts, while not large, were ideally shaped, the magenta nipples 
delicate and small. Her waist was narrow, her body flaring below it to 
womanly hips and tapering again to sweetly rounded thighs at the 
juncture of which was an arrowhead of auburn hair.

"Not bad," she murmured, "but what the hell good is it to me if I don't 
use it? Somewhere in San Francisco there must be a man who would dearly 
love to get my clothes off, play with all my goodies and then stick his 
big, fat, lovely cock in my pussy and bang hell out of me until I 
yelled for mercy. They have college courses in home economics, the 
modern dance and even karate. Why don't they have one on how to get 
fucked?"

She sighed and stepped into the tub, settling herself in the sudsy 
water. She allowed the warmth and the quiet to induce a lassitude that 
soon verged on sleep and made no effort to dispel an erotic fantasy 
that began to weave its way through her half-awake mind. She snapped 
back to consciousness when she became aware that in the midst of her 
imaginings she had allowed one hand to drift to her crotch and that she 
was gently massaging her clitoris.

"Good grief!" she gasped, sitting upright in the tub. "I haven't done 
that since I was fifteen! Oh well, what the hell? It does feel good, 
and if I'm going to be an old maid I might as well go the whole route." 
She lay back down and again put her fingers to her vagina. With the 
other hand she touched one of her nipples and experimentally rubbed it 
with the tip of a finger. Not like having a man's hand or mouth there, 
but better than nothing.

Lynn was so preoccupied with the new method she had found to entertain 
herself that she failed to hear the front door open or the sound of 
masculine feet on the carpeted floor of the living room. She was not 
aware that she was no longer alone in the house until the bathroom door 
was shoved open.

"Oops!" Sam exclaimed as he hastily backed out. "Sorry, Lynn, but the 
door was unlocked and I had to go."

"It's okay," she called out. "What are you doing home this time of 
day?" She was startled but not particularly embarrassed. Nothing but 
her head and knees had shown above the soapy water, and she was 
thankful that he had not been able to see that she had been 
masturbating. Nevertheless, she was trembling a little as she got out 
of the tub, hastily dried and wrapped a towel around her body. "All 
clear," she said.

"I came home for some business papers," Sam said as he started to pass 
her. "I should have ..." His voice dwindled, and he stopped in front of 
her. His expression changed abruptly at sight of her standing there, 
unclothed but for the towel. His face registered shock and the 
beginnings of desire.

"Lynn, I ... I ..."

She was as shocked as Sam, but mostly at the wild, unprecedented 
thoughts that were surging through her mind. She blushed furiously. 
Nothing would have happened had she not, in turning to slide past him, 
let the towel slip so that it fell to one side.

He took it as an invitation. Looking back on it afterward, she couldn't 
blame him, couldn't be sure that some subconscious impulse had not 
caused her to drop the towel. She struggled in his arms, though, 
telling him to stop and that they couldn't do this because he was 
married to her sister.

"What the hell has Shirley got to do with it?" he muttered, kissing her 
and holding her tightly, one hand falling to her buttocks. "I want you, 
Lynn. Damnit! I've wanted you since the day you first came here. 
Shirley will never know."

"We mustn't," she insisted, but despite herself she found that she was 
grinding her hips against him, feeling the hardness of his cock through 
his pants and knowing that she was so weak from desire that she could 
never resist him. When he bent his head and took one of her nipples in 
his mouth, she was lost ... lost beyond any hope of recovery and she 
didn't give a damn. Nothing mattered now except having him.

Her bedroom was across the hall, and he took her there with no 
resistance on her part, took her there and fell across the bed with 
her. He kissed her breasts, her stomach and her thighs, fumbling all 
the time with his belt until he had his pants down. Then he mounted 
her, punching his hard prick in ineffectual haste at her crotch until 
she took it in her hands and guided the head of it to her opening. It 
went in as smoothly as though they had been doing it with each other 
every day. She wrapped her long, lovely legs around him, pulling him 
even deeper into her.

"Now fuck me!" she commanded, her whisper hoarse and urgent. "Oh, fuck 
me, Sam! "

"Yes," he agreed, "this is what I want, Lynn. Oh, Lynn, honey, I've 
thought about you all day, every day for months. When I make love to 
Shirley, I'm screwing you."

"Hush," she told him. "Just fuck me. I love your cock inside of me."

"Suppose I get you pregnant?"

"I don't give a shit. Just fuck me, damnit!"

They did it quickly and convulsively. Both were in such a rage of 
sudden passion for each other that they came, almost together, in a 
matter of moments. The roaring beat was like the crashing finale of a 
great orchestra, and their movements on the bed were wild and jerky as 
they strove with mad desperation to merge their bodies. She nearly 
fainted with delight as she felt his hot cum fill her, and her own 
orgasm was a tearing, rending, destructive thing that seemed to 
demolish her as though a bomb had exploded in her womb.

"My God!" Sam exclaimed when he lay exhausted and shaking on top of 
her. "I never knew it could be like this. I had girls before Shirley, 
but they were nothing compared to you--and neither is she."

"I thought you loved Shirley."

He shrugged. "I suppose I do. At least I'm used to her. Frankly, Lynn, 
Shirley and I bore hell out of each other. She's a dud in bed. I'd like 
to experiment around a little, but she's a damned prude. I've never 
done anything out of the ordinary but, for Christ's sake, I know 
there's more to it than just screwing. She won't even talk about it."

Lynn was interested. She had read some books on the subject, but had 
been unable to arouse an equal amount of interest in her own husband. 
She suspected that, like Shirley, he was a prude. "Tell me about those 
things," she urged Sam.

He looked embarrassed. "They're hard to talk about. If you're willing, 
we could just go ahead and do them. Are you willing, Lynn?"

"Why not? No use worrying now about whether what we're doing is right 
or not. We might as well live it up. Do you have to go right back to 
the office?"

"No, I can think of some excuse later. I'm getting another hard just 
talking about ... you know what. I want to kiss your pussy. I've always 
wanted to do that to a girl, but I've never had the nerve before to 
ask."

"Be my guest," Lynn said with a nervous laugh, "but shouldn't you get 
undressed? I'd like to see the rest of your body."

"All right." He stripped off the remainder of his clothes and returned 
to the bed. He petted her, letting his hands learn the excitingly 
sculptured contours of her thighs. She, in turn, took his cock in her 
hand and stroked it, loving the slippery feeling of pre-orgasmic semen.

"Now," he said. "I hope you like this, Lynn."

"Don't worry about me. I just hope you like doing it to me. It must be 
a lot like masturbation. That was what I was doing when you came in the 
bathroom. Your timing was terrific, Sam. That was why I was so hot I 
couldn't say no."

"I'm glad," he murmured as he slid down on the bed and turned around to 
bury his face in her crinkly patch of auburn hair.

She spread her legs for him, excitement mounting in her as she felt his 
mouth and tongue on her vulva. "Oh, yes!" she cried, "it is good. It's 
a lovely sensation. Suck my clitoris, Sam. It's so wonderful I can 
hardly stand it!" Her head was pillowed on his leg and she had her hand 
on his cock, its blind face with the tiny, gaping mouth only inches 
from her nose. She could smell her own body musk, a strangely 
compelling perfume. Impulsively she moved forward so that the round, 
reddish head touched her lips and then, urged on by a compulsion she 
had not anticipated, she opened her mouth and let the next thrust of 
his hips shove the satiny shaft between her teeth. Once it was in her 
mouth she sucked eagerly to engulf more. She was not satisfied until 
the head of it was at the back of her throat.

Sam's efforts, while somewhat inept, lacked nothing in enthusiasm. He 
drew the soft, membranous flesh into his mouth and licked furiously at 
her clitoris, his hands delighting in the spongy flesh of her buttocks 
as he drew her closer to him.

Lynn knew that she had been right only in part--it was like 
masturbation, but a thousand times better. His avid tongue was driving 
her toward another quick orgasm, and she didn't want it that way. She 
wanted it to last and last because she wanted to go on sucking his cock 
as long as possible. My God, she thought. What I've been missing! To 
hell with living here like a damned troll in a cave. Tomorrow she'd go 
out on the town and suck every cock she could find!

She held back from the impending orgasm, but that only served to 
increase the inferno of passion that stormed in her, the strain on 
tortured nerves and on a body that longed for release. Clutching each 
other tightly, they twisted and turned, undulating on the bed like an 
oddly shaped monster with legs on both ends, and they uttered blubbery 
sounds as of anguish. Then she felt his prick swell in her mouth and 
knew that he was about to come. She let herself go, wanting to scream 
with the sweet agony of it, yet not able to because her mouth was full 
of cock and was filling faster than she could swallow with the 
ambrosial stuff that gushed from him. She nearly choked, but managed to 
get it all down her throat; then it was over. Still they clung to each 
other, neither willing to admit that it had ended. As their bodies 
jerked in ever diminishing spasms of dying lust, they continued to suck 
each other hopefully until at last they realized that they could expect 
no more.

Sam sat up and turned around, and they lay with their arms about each 
other, murmuring endearments and kissing.

"I'll get a divorce from Shirley," he told her. "You'll marry me, won't 
you?"

She looked at him, startled. "Of course not! I'm not in love with you, 
and I wouldn't think of breaking up my sister's home. What we're doing 
is bad enough without that."

"But I can't do without you. All right then, if you won't marry me, at 
least live here with us always, and we can find chances to do this. 
After having you, I can't stand going to bed with Shirley."

Lynn shook her head. "No, Sam. This has been fun, and it was just what 
I needed, but we can't get away with it forever. She'd be bound to find 
out before long. Besides, I'm not going to be true to you. I want other 
men now ... lots of other men. I'd like to suck all the cocks in San 
Francisco!"

He was shocked and said so. They argued awhile, but then the lure of 
each other's bodies proved too great, and before long they were back at 
it again, sucking each other greedily. It took them longer and left 
them more exhausted than before, so tired, in fact, that they went to 
sleep that way.

*   *   *

A sedan pulled into the curb a block from the Dryerson home. The man at 
the wheel turned to the blonde girl beside him and would have put his 
arm around her, but she moved away from him.

"Not here, Bob," Shirley Dryerson said. "Some of the neighbors may be 
watching. You're a glutton. We've done it twice since we left the 
office. I love these afternoons when the boss goes to see his mistress 
and we can sneak out early, but let's don't spoil it by getting 
caught."

He laughed. "Yeah, I love them, too, but they aren't enough for me, 
Shirley. Christ! I can't ever get enough of you. When are you going to 
divorce that guy and marry me?"

She shrugged. "Don't be impatient, honey. Sam won't be easy to divorce. 
I don't think he's got enough guts to do anything to give me grounds. 
I've got my sister staying with me. You should see her, Bob. She's 
beautiful and so hot she'd screw anything with a cock. And do you think 
that stupid husband of mine makes passes at her? Hah! He acts like she 
was part of the furniture. Would I ever like to catch them together! 
I'd take him for the works, believe me."

"Okay," Bob replied grudgingly, "but don't make me wait too long. 
Nobody can see this. At least, goddamnit, let me get another feel." He 
put his hand under her thigh and worked it by the leg of her panties to 
touch her moist, warm crotch, and then slid it further under her and 
into the cleft between her buttocks to run his middle finger its full 
length up her anus.

"Don't, Bob!" Shirley gasped. "You know what that does to me. Quit it 
or I'll make you take me back to that motel and fuck me in the ass 
again." Her body was tense and her face showed the strain of the 
lustful emotions that rampaged through her. "Tomorrow night!" she 
whispered fiercely. "I'll try to get away for a while tomorrow night! 
I'll try to think of some excuse. Oh, Bob!" He still had his finger in 
her ass and had bent his head to her lap, pulling aside the nylon of 
her panties and running his tongue into her vulva until it touched her 
clitoris.

"Now stop!" she commanded sharply and pulled away from him again. "Meet 
me at the usual place tomorrow night." Then she slipped out of the car 
and trotted up the sidewalk. She looked back once to see the grimace of 
chagrin and frustration on his face before she hurried on to her house.

The front door was unlocked, so she went in without knocking and was on 
her way to her bedroom when she heard a noise that caused her to look 
in the open door across the hallway from the bathroom. She stopped, 
stunned with surprise at what she saw. Lynn and Sam lay naked on the 
bed. Sam snored gently into Lynn's crotch and his limp cock was in 
Lynn's mouth. Shirley gazed upon this entrancing scene for several 
moments, a wide smile on her lips. It couldn't, she decided, have been 
more perfect if she had staged it herself. Then she wiped the smile 
from her face and, setting herself for the effort, she screamed at the 
top of her lungs.

*   *   *

"It's better this way," Sam told Lynn at the airport the next day. "You 
go on to Honolulu until Shirley cools down. She'll want a divorce, of 
course, and getting it all settled will be messy. I'll join you there 
as soon as I can. That's your flight they're calling. 'Bye, darling. 
See you soon."

She kissed him lightly and turned to the counter where an airline 
employee was validating tickets. The girl ahead of her in the line 
seemed vaguely familiar, but Lynn supposed she must be mistaken. She 
had to admit, rather regretfully, that she didn't know any hippies. 
Then the girl turned and Lynn saw her profile. Of course! This was the 
girl in the newspaper ... Ellen something-or-other. What a coincidence 
that they should be going to Hawaii on the same plane.

She wondered if they would sit together.



Chapter 3


Her stage name was Kalola Kalikimaka.

She was billed at The Polynesian Paradise night club as an exotic fire 
dancer from Samoa, daughter of a chief. She was neither the daughter of 
a chief nor a Samoan. Her real name was Mary Kulihi and she had been 
born in the Palmyra, the old tenement district of Honolulu where her 
mother, a stout, good-natured Korean woman, ran a home laundry, and her 
father, a fat, happy half-Hawaiian, sat on the rickety front porch in 
the shade of the bougainvillea and drank beer.

Kalola was a very good dancer, as she certainly should have been. She 
had started practicing when she was four. She was also a very homesick 
little girl, as are all natives when they leave the islands of their 
birth. But Kalola could put up with being homesick because she was in 
love.

Jimmy Murphy was an American sailor, five years older than Kalola's 
eighteen. He was stationed on Treasure Island in San Francisco Bay and, 
being a yeoman in the executive office, rated liberty every night, a 
fortuitous circumstance that made it possible for he and Kalola to live 
very happily together in sin. He tended to be a bit vague on the 
subject of marriage and their future, but Kalola never doubted for one 
moment that they would eventually marry. Until he had seduced her, she 
had been an entirely innocent girl and, in her heart, she still was, 
for a childlike simplicity and sunny disposition were a natural part of 
her mixed racial heritage.

Except for the annoying presence of Herb Drew, night club manager, she 
liked her job. Herb, a darkly handsome man of forty, considered all 
female entertainers at the club as primarily there for his personal 
benefit and enjoyment. He usually succeeded in bedding them, but his 
best efforts had been of no avail with Kalola. In desperation, he had 
even forced his way into her dressing room while she was changing and 
had held her by brute strength while fondling her breasts. Kalola had 
bided her time until he had relaxed his hold, then had brought a knee 
up forcibly into his crotch. For nearly a week after that, Herb had 
seemed to lose all interest in sex and had walked about backstage like 
a man riding an invisible horse, while glowering and muttering darkly 
at everyone he met. He had never bothered her again.

The drums rolled in a final flurry as Kalola completed her dance, her 
bronzed body glistening in the light of the two torches she dexterously 
twirled with such speed that they seemed hoops of fire. She ended by 
tossing them into the air and catching them as she ran from the stage. 
She returned to a prolonged applause to take a bow, then hurried 
offstage to her dressing room.

Carefully locking the door from the inside, she divested herself of the 
six flower leis she wore, the skimpy halter top and the short, 
imitation grass skirt. Then she removed her make-up with theatrical 
cream and quickly donned street clothes. She smiled happily at her 
naked reflection in the mirror, glad of the fate that had granted her 
skin as smooth as brown silk, breasts that jutted enticingly from her 
upper body and hips and thighs, developed from years of dancing into 
twin perfections of breathlessly lovely shape. She had long known that 
her seductively contoured form and piquantly beautiful face were great 
assets in show business, but now she was particularly pleased with her 
natural endowments because they pleased Jimmy. He praised her and 
petted her and could keep neither his hands nor his lips off of her 
body when they were together. And that made it an equitable 
arrangement, because she couldn't keep her hands off of him either. He 
had taught her to make love, and now she lived only for the hours when 
they lay together, white and brown bodies entwined as they struggled in 
the frenzied, panting, rapturous dance of passion.

Kalola left the night club by the back door and took a city bus to the 
apartment she shared with her lover in the Marina District. Jimmy met 
her at the door and swept her into his arms. She was glad he had just 
gotten there and had not yet had time to change from his uniform. She 
loved the feel of the dark-blue broadcloth with its contrasting white 
stripes, rating badge and single red hashmark. They kissed hungrily and 
he, as usual, dropped a hand to raise her skirt in back and caress the 
firm, rounded flesh of her buttocks. Everything was exactly as it had 
always been with them ... and yet it wasn't. Kalola thought she 
detected a note of preoccupation, almost absentmindedness, in the kiss 
and in the caressing hands.

"Whatsa matta you, fella jimboy?" she asked anxiously.

"Nothing. For crissake quit talking pidgin," he responded irritably.

She was instantly and deeply hurt. It was the first time he had ever 
voiced an objection to the inland English she often used with him as a 
kind of lover's baby talk. She knew now that something real was 
troubling him, but she was too wise in the ways of a woman to let him 
see her hurt. She would wait and he would tell her when he was ready. 
She knew the kind of therapy he needed. She ran a hand down the front 
of his trousers, feeling for his cock through the tight material.

Jimmy stood tense and still for a moment, then he relaxed. "Gosh, 
Kalola honey, I'm sorry," he muttered. "I'm just--" She silenced him 
with her lips on his.

"Undress me," she whispered around the corner of the kiss. "Take my 
clothes off, Jimmy, and kiss my titties."

He hesitated, seeming for a moment on the point of refusing, and then, 
with a groan, he unzipped her dress at the back and let it fall to the 
floor. She wore no underwear.

"Now you," she said. "Hurry, Jimmy." While he struggled to pull his 
jumper off over his broad shoulders, Kalola knelt and undid the 
thirteen buttons of his trousers. She pulled them down and his shorts 
as well, clasping her arms around his hips and pulling him toward her 
so that his stiffening cock was cuddled against her cheek. She showered 
avid kisses on the thick shaft of it, on his belly and thighs. She 
reluctantly disengaged herself from him only long enough to remove his 
shoes and socks, then they hurried, arm in arm, to the bedroom.

She lay back across the bed to let him lean over her and suck greedily 
at the dark brown of her nipples, his tongue and teeth sending thrills 
chasing through her that made her squirm with mounting desire. She 
closed her eyes and rocked her head from side to side, her long, black 
hair fanned out on the pink of the chenille bedspread, her knees bent 
and her heels hooked under the edge of the mattress.

He lowered his head from her breasts to the taut skin of her stomach, 
his wet lips and tongue leaving a trail of moisture across her brown 
hide.

"Now do it to me! Oh, do it to me good, Jimmy!" she pleaded.

He mounted her and thrust his cock into her open and receptive vagina 
as she cried out in ecstasy. As he fucked it into her, she pulled his 
face down to hers and sucked his tongue into her mouth. Her hips rose 
to meet his and she felt his long, hard cock probe deeply, the head of 
it bumping its way past the mouth of her womb until it hit bottom. He 
continued to push at her, creating a little thrill of pain with each 
lunge of his body. This was what she loved most of all, the bigness and 
the length of him and the fact that he filled her so completely that 
doing it with him was both painful and heavenly. Tonight he was 
particularly rough with her, as though taking his earlier flash of 
irritability out on her body, punishing her for loving him too much, 
for demanding and getting too much of him. She cried out in pain and 
passion and strained for more, willing him to give her a physical pain 
to erase the memory of the other hurt he had inflicted on her.

Jimmy Murphy was actually neither very experienced nor very adept as a 
lover. But Kalola in her innocence didn't know that. She thought he was 
the greatest fucker who had ever lived. On the occasions when he came 
before she did, leaving her aching and frustrated, she forgave him 
easily, supposing that such was her lot in life and all she could 
expect as her share of intercourse.

Her passion mounted, welling and growing in her like the froth on 
boiling waters, until her body lost all meaning except as a chalice for 
his prick and a capsule to contain the screaming nerves that had become 
her. It was one of her lucky nights. She was able to have her orgasm 
just before he did. Their locked bodies continued to writhe and twitch 
in unison with the fading pulses of dying sensation that still shook 
them in surges of decreasing power.

"Jimmy," she whispered, her dark eyes adoring him, "I'll bet no other 
guy in the world can make love like you."

Jimmy frowned and looked uncomfortable. "I've been keeping track," he 
said, not meeting her eyes directly. "You know how long it's been since 
your last period?"

"Hunh?" She looked blank and then startled and admitted she didn't 
know.

"Nearly two months," he told her accusingly. "You aren't pregnant, are 
you?"

Kalola's eyes became round with mild shock as this new idea penetrated 
her mind, then she smiled radiantly. "Gee! Do you think I might be? 
Wouldn't that be wonderful, Jimmy?"

His frown deepened. "You better not be," he told her threateningly, "or 
we're in a helluva mess. I just got orders today that I'm being 
transferred back East ... Brooklyn Navy Yard."

He had just dropped a bomb into the middle of her life and blown it to 
hell. Yet he seemed unaware of what he had done. He couldn't understand 
her heartbreak and grew angry with her when she cried and begged. As if 
it explained everything, he casually announced that he was already 
married anyway and what the hell had she expected?

A sunny disposition was not the only thing Kalola's conglomerate, 
racial heritage had bequeathed her. Her slanted eyes narrowed to slits 
and her lips curled into a snarl of rage as she hurled herself at him 
with clawing fingernails and flailing feet and knees. He managed to 
barricade himself in the bathroom until her temper had cooled, then he 
wisely gathered up his uniform and fled, leaving Kalola sobbing and 
screaming on the bed.

He had been gone from the apartment for an hour when she sat up and 
looked around her. Her face was puffed from crying, but her eyes were 
now dry and her mouth was set in hard lines such as it had never before 
known.

"Okay, you goddamn sonomobeech. I show you pretty damn good, hunh," she 
muttered aloud, lapsing back into the pidgin of her childhood in the 
slums of Honolulu. She went to the living room, fumbled through the 
phone book and found a number. She dialed it, and when a man's voice 
answered, she said: "Mista Drew? This is Kalola. You no mad at me fo' 
kick you in nuts? Okay. You still wanta fuck me, I come you house. 
Sure, I come now, I stay you house all night, you fuck me plenty, 
yeah?" She hung up the receiver on its cradle.

"I show you, sailorboy shitty basta'd," she said as she pulled on her 
clothes.

A bewildered Herb Drew met Kalola at the door of his apartment. He 
wasn't at all sure what he was letting himself in for, but the powerful 
yen he had developed for the little brown dancer was greater even than 
his still vivid memory of an aching scrotum. "Come in," he greeted her. 
"I'm glad you've changed your mind. Can I fix you a drink?"

"Sure. We get plenty drunk, hunh? And we fucky-fucky all night, too."

"Suits me," Herb agreed, "although I'll be damned if I can figure why 
you decided to give me a little at two o'clock in the morning." He 
poured her a double shot and watched her toss it off with no apparent 
effort, a thing he thought strange when he knew for a fact she did not 
drink.

"Come on," she said, "let's go sackside. You bring one bottle, fella. 
Okay?"

Herb shrugged and followed her into the bedroom, noting that she was 
unzipping her dress and stepping out of it as she walked. He undressed 
and they had another drink, then he lowered himself to the bed and drew 
her to him.

It was no part of Kalola's plan to enjoy herself with Herb Drew. What 
she was doing was strictly for revenge. What she had not counted on was 
the stimulating effects of the whiskey and that Herb was an 
accomplished roue, quite expert at his chosen avocation. She did 
notice, with more interest than she had intended to have, that his cock 
was much larger than Jimmy Murphy's. She had been sure that the sailor 
had the world's largest prick, but now she saw that he had been only a 
boy after all.

"I know a few tricks, baby," Herb said as he squeezed her breasts and 
regarded her shapely body with all the honest appreciation of the true 
connoisseur. "How do you want it?"

"I no give a damn," Kalola answered coldly.

"All right," he agreed. "In that case, honey, I'd like to suck your 
cunt. I've had a tongue hard-on ever since I first saw you dance."

She had not the slightest notion what he meant, but she watched with 
some interest as he slid down on the bed and put his head between her 
thighs. When his tongue shot into her, she still did not understand, 
but when he began expertly sucking and lapping her clitoris, she 
suddenly got the idea.

She lay there, a withdrawn and frigid statue, hating him because he was 
a man and white but hating Jimmy Murphy even more. She managed to 
maintain her frozen pose for nearly five minutes. But Herb's cunning 
tongue was not to be denied. In spite of herself, Kalola became aware 
of a very pleasant sensation that was tingling its way up through her 
nervous system. It grew and grew, blossoming with every passing second 
and with every stroke of the educated tongue. She fought against it, 
not wanting to like what he was doing and not wanting to like him. But 
the whiskey was her undoing; it had both stimulated her and lowered the 
bars of her inhibitions. In a matter of moments her hips were rotating 
in time with the beat of Herb's tongue and her hands were clenching and 
unclenching on the bedspread.

With her mind, Kalola was hating him, and hating herself for what she 
was doing with him, but she was being like the priest in the story who 
explained why he seduced the nun by saying: "From the belly button up I 
am a priest; from the waist down I am still a man." Her body was 
treacherously refusing to obey the dictates of her mind.

Herb Drew was enjoying himself and deriving much more than the normal 
satisfaction from this erotic love-play. Not only was he fulfilling a 
burning ambition, but in a way he was also revenging himself for the 
misery she had dealt him with her hard little knee. Time after time he 
brought her to the very edge of an orgasm and then slackened his 
efforts, only to start all over again the moment she began to relax. He 
managed to keep it up for an hour, reveling in the mildly sadistic 
pleasure of knowing that he had reduced her to a helpless, moaning lump 
of over-sensitized jelly, her nerves so finely drawn that every touch 
of his tongue or fingers drove her to the verge of screaming insanity. 
Only when his own desire had reached the point where he could no longer 
control it did he relent. He suddenly reared up from his position 
between her quivering thighs and thrust his massive cock into her with 
ruthless force. She did scream then, but as much from pleasure as from 
pain. He could have made her come with one or two well-calculated 
strokes, but still he held off, tantalizing her while treating her to 
more excruciatingly poignant sensations that she had ever before known.

"Beg for it, you beautiful, little brown bitch," he gasped.

Kalola looked up at him with wild eyes, her pride and her hate 
forgotten. "Yes!" she cried. "Yes, I beg. Do it. Make me come!"

He leered. "Say please."

"Please! Please, please, please!"

"That's better, goddamn you. Kick me in the nuts, will you? I'll have 
you on the floor licking my feet before this night is over."

"Okay. Anything! But please make me come."

Grinning savagely, he increased the tempo of his plunging prick. When 
he felt her cunt begin to work convulsively, he let himself go, filling 
her with the viscous, sticky stuff.

She thought her strength gone, her body weakened from the strain of the 
hour in which he had tortured her, but when she felt him gushing into 
her, it was as though he were injecting her with new power. She arched 
her back so violently that she lifted him a foot off the bed. Her 
strong legs clamped his thighs with the strength of a maddened octopus, 
her heels drumming on his buttocks as she tried to drive him even 
deeper into her. Her orgasm was devastating, a thing of total, bodily 
involvement. She felt that she was melting in the heat of her own 
passion ... melting and running like a river of fire into the white-hot 
chalice of her own cunt.

It was over and yet it was not. Herb would not let it be over. Where 
Jimmy had been content after screwing her to light a cigarette or roll 
over and go to sleep, Herb gave her not even a moment in which to 
collect herself or to enjoy the deep, somnolent pleasure of passion's 
afterglow. He withdrew from her and immediately began to suck her 
nipples while his fingers did a light dance on her sensitized body. 
When she protested feebly, he ignored her plea and began making a tour 
of her body with the tip of his tongue. He drew it across her stomach 
and her ribs, down the length of her leg to her feet and up the other 
leg. He even rolled her over to give her back the same treatment, 
kissing and biting at her buttocks, then spreading them to tantalize 
the brown button of her anus, licking it until she was in a frenzy of 
new excitement and even forcing the tip of his tongue into the tight 
orifice.

She couldn't imagine why he was doing such a thing, but she didn't 
care. She was pleading with him to fuck her again. She was not aware of 
his intention until he had pushed her onto her side, hunched himself up 
close to her back and had the head of his cock started into her 
asshole. She struggled, but he was too strong for her. She screamed in 
real pain as he thrust strongly into her. She would have fought him, 
but he reached over her hip and thrust his hand in her crotch, his 
fingers finding her clitoris and agitating it. She forgot the pain 
then, even relishing it and letting it help her toward another orgasm. 
He made her come three times that way, then began another long siege of 
teasing until she was again a bundle of agonized nerves and begging for 
release.

"Okay," he told her, "take it in your mouth and I'll fix you up. 
Otherwise, I'll keep you going like this all night."

"I don't do that. It's dirty."

"Suit yourself."

"Fuck me in the ass again. I liked that."

"No, I'm tired of it. Suck my cock or I'll go down on you and I won't 
let you come either."

"Okay, but you make me come soon, hunh?"

"After you swallow my jism, baby."

He turned around on the bed and, putting a hand behind her head, thrust 
his dripping, shit-flecked prick between her lips. Kalola dutifully 
sucked. It seemed a strange and nasty thing to be doing until he put 
his face to her crotch and began licking her pussy. Then, when her 
passion had again been aroused to an intense pitch, she began to like 
the feel and the taste of him in her mouth. When he came, she swallowed 
rapidly and milked the shaft with her hand to extract the last drop of 
semen. She continued to hold his cock in her mouth as he worked her 
clitoris and brought her to another wild climax.

*   *   *

"You better go home now, kiddo. You got a show to do this afternoon," 
Herb said sleepily at six o'clock in the morning.

"I don't want to go," Kalola rejoined. "Why can't I just stay here with 
you, Herb? Tonight, after work, I'll fix dinner for you. I'm a good 
cook Hawaiian style. Then we can go to bed and fuck and suck all night 
again."

He regarded her coldly. "I see you don't get the picture," he told her. 
"I never screw the same girl twice, honey. You're a great little piece 
of ass, but, frankly, seconds on you would bore hell out of me. Run 
along now. It was fun. Let's let it go at that."

Considering the scene she had made when Jimmy Murphy had rejected her, 
Kalola went very quietly. She went to her own apartment, called an 
airline for reservations, packed and took a cab to the airport. She was 
going home and she would never again in her lifetime come to the 
mainland never even want to hear it mentioned.

She got in line to validate her ticket behind a beautiful, red-haired 
girl and a pretty blonde dressed like a hippie.



Chapter 4


It required only two hundred miles of cottony white clouds, as seen 
from several miles above a sparkling blue Pacific, for the three girls 
to become acquainted. Seated together on the starboard side of the 
aircraft, they made an interesting study in contrasts with Kalola's 
dark, exotic beauty, the blonde prettiness of Ellen Canfield, and Lynn, 
the vivid and vivacious redhead.

By the four-hundred-mile point, they had begun to tell each other their 
troubles.

"I saw your picture in the paper," Lynn sympathized with Ellen. "How 
terrible for you for your ... her ... husband to die that way."

Ellen regarded her blankly. Then her lazy, pretty mouth curled into a 
smile that was half sincere. "You mean like the papers said, from an 
overdose of 'L'? Bullshit, darling. Maxy fucked himself to death, and 
don't start thinking what a lucky girl I was either. The son of a bitch 
didn't screw himself into the next world on me. He got tired of me 
after the first week. All I did after that was hustle for him to keep 
him in bread."

"Men are dirty bastards," Kalola put in, her eyes slitting and her lips 
forming a hard, bitter line. "I will never be nice to another man. I 
will take them for everything I can get from them ... after I have made 
them screw me, of course."

"My own experience with them has not been so good," Lynn confessed. "My 
own husband divorced me for no better reason than because he happened 
to catch me playing with his best friend's cock. Now, mind you, we 
hadn't done a thing. It was at a party and we'd all been drinking. I'd 
been dancing with this man and he got a hard-on, and all I did was take 
it out and stroke it a little."

"And they think they're so superior," Kalola snorted, "the narrow-
minded, nasty, selfish bastards!"

Ellen nodded in sympathetic agreement.

"What will you do in the islands?" Kalola asked her.

Ellen shrugged and looked vague. "I don't know. I hear there's a nice 
hippie colony out on Oahu. Max had two kilos of pot stashed away. I 
sold it for enough to get a plane ticket. I still got a half a kilo and 
a dozen tabs each of LSD, mescaline and speed. That'll get me by for a 
while."

"You're better off than I am," Lynn said. "That cheap brother-in-law of 
mine gave me only three hundred dollars. I guess I'll have to find me a 
little grass shack on the beach and live off of bananas."

Kalola looked at her pityingly. "Boy, you malihini wahines sure got 
plenty to learn. If you find a grass shack anywhere, it will be on top 
of a high-rise apartment building and cost you two hundred bucks a 
month. They catch you swiping bananas they put you in jail and forget 
they got you in there."

"What is a malihini wahine?" Lynn asked.

"Wahine is girl," Kalola replied, "and malihini is newcomer ... like 
tenderfoot or greenhorn. You'll be lucky to find an apartment at all. 
I've got friends who live in what we call 'The Jungle.' That's the poor 
people's district off the main street in Waikiki. Sometimes you can get 
an apartment there for a hundred a month ... you pay the gas and 
lights."

"Why don't the three of us try to find one together?" Lynn suggested. 
"Wouldn't that be fun?"

"Sure," Kalola agreed, "but I don't know what we'll do for a living. 
You don't know anything but teaching school, and I guess I can't get a 
job dancing ... not after walking out on my contract in San Francisco."

"Why don't we all turn pro?" Ellen asked. "Seems to me, with all the 
rich tourists and other squares there, we ought to make out okay by 
whoring."

"Probably have to," Kalola agreed.

"I wouldn't mind," Lynn said. "But maybe there's a better way. I have a 
very good camera with me, and I'm something of an amateur photographer. 
We can probably rig up a darkroom to develop our own pictures. What I 
had in mind was blackmail. We pick out an important man and one of us 
brings him to the house. When you both have your clothes off and things 
are getting real interesting, one of the others can take the pictures. 
With infra-red film you don't even have to have light."

The other two looked at Lynn with suddenly increased respect.

"Maybe you're not so malihini after all," Kalola said. "Okay, I'll go 
see Joe Moto when we get to Waikiki. Maybe he's got a house for us."

*   *   *

It has been said that the most charmingly Polynesian part of Oahu is 
the International Airport at Honolulu. That this atmosphere is 
deliberately and not too subtly contrived detracts not one whit from 
the validity of the statement, for the rest of the island is even more 
commercial, more of a tourist trap, and even phonier.

Not that this meant a thing to Kalola. She was used to it and expected 
nothing else. From the time the plane came in sight of the crater of 
Haleakala on Maui, and then swung north to pick up Diamond Head, she 
was happy because she was home. She didn't need to hear the canned 
strains of "Beyond the Reef" to become misty-eyed. The familiar scent 
of plume ria or pikake was enough to strum the strings of her 
sentimental heart.

Ellen glanced disinterestedly about her with that bored and blase 
attitude she considered most proper and becoming to a hippie.

Lynn, on the other hand, was full of "ohs" and "ahs" and behaved in the 
normal, rubberneck fashion of the typical tourist. She had to be 
steered firmly by souvenir stands offering koa ashtrays, ersatz grass 
skirts, ukeleles and numerous other items ... most of which had been 
made in Japan.

They took the airport bus to Kalakaua Avenue and were in the heart of 
famed Waikiki, although all they could see of it were the fronts of 
huge hotels, apartments, stores and honky-tonk spots.

"Isn't there supposed to be an ocean around here someplace?" Lynn 
asked, disappointed.

"Oh, sure," Kalola replied. She waved a hand to the west. "Somewhere 
out there beyond the hotels ... if some mainland real estater hasn't 
drained it and started a new sub-division. Come on. We go find Joe 
Moto." She led them down Lewers Street and turned on Kuhio Avenue, 
stopping in front of an ancient frame building with a faded sign on its 
porch. The sign depicted a sick-looking palm tree. Beneath this time-
worn cutout could be seen the name, "Pacific Paradise Hotel." The 
grounds were shaded by kukui trees and the moist, warm air was cloying 
with the sweet scent of frangipani. Behind the office they could see, 
half hidden by the lush, tropical growth of shrubs and flowers, a 
number of small shacks that leaned awry on crumbling foundations.

A bandy-legged, squat and swarthy man with squinted slits of eyes and a 
bald, bullet-shaped head, came out at Kalola's call. He stood on the 
front porch, picking his teeth with a match stick and regarding the 
three girls dubiously. "You come back, hunh?" he greeted Kalola. "You 
want house now. Who these other wahines?"

"Friends of mine," the little dancer told him. "Come on, Joe, fix us up 
with a place. We plenty damned tired."

"I dunno," Joe said. He was eyeing Ellen, taking in her flowered pants 
and the medallion hung between her large breasts. "We don't want no 
hippies. Big trouble from cops alla time."

"Boy, you sure dumb," Kalola rejoined scornfully. "All rich tourists 
from mainland dress hippie style now. Anyway, Ellen no make you 
trouble. She damn good, hard-working whore."

"Oh," Joe Moto said. "Why didn't you say so? Okay, take number four. It 
ain't locked." He started back into the house. "Rent went up again 
while you was gone," he said. "You pay one-twenty a month now."

"Jap sonomobeech!" Kalola muttered under her breath as she led the two 
girls to number four. The two bedroom house was permeated by the musty 
smell of mold and of rotting timbers. It was permanently occupied by 
countless cockroaches, cane spiders bigger than the inside of a tea cup 
and small lizards of all colors.

"Is it a house or a goddamned zoo?" Lynn asked plaintively as she 
looked for a spot free of insect life where she might deposit her 
suitcase.

"You'll get used to 'em," Kalola assured her. "Let's go swimming."

They changed into bathing suits and walked the shaded streets to the 
beach, a small semicircle of sand between two hotels and crowded with 
people. They swam in the warm water and played in the almost negligible 
surf, then stretched out on the beach to take the sun.

"Who should we start on?" Lynn asked as she wiped suntan lotion on her 
gleaming thighs. "I mean where do we start looking for a blackmail 
victim?"

"Wouldn't just whoring be simpler?" Ellen questioned, but Kalola 
ignored her. Her forehead was wrinkled in thought.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, "I bet I know who we can take. Mike is running 
for state senator. He's got a thing about blondes. With election coming 
up, he'll be a cinch. You want to try him, Ellen?"

Ellen shrugged. "Why not? The islands seem a funny place to be making 
it with an Irish politician ... but what the hell."

"He's not Irish," Kalola explained. "His name is Mike Fuda. He's jap. I 
can introduce you to him."

"Let's go home then," Lynn suggested. "I want to see about turning that 
closet in my bedroom into a darkroom, and I have to figure out where I 
can hide and get a shot of him and Ellen."

"You chicks go ahead," Ellen said lazily. "I'm gonna stay on the beach 
awhile."

"Okay," Kalola agreed, "but be right here where we can find you later. 
Soon as Lynn gets everything set up, I'm going to call Mike Fuda and 
make a date for you. Mike goes for blondes like a monkey goes for 
peanuts. He'll start at your toes and eat you up."

Ellen shrugged. "I don't mind getting eaten. There was a queer kid in 
San Francisco who'd come up to the pad every day to eat my pussy, until 
that damned Max started charging him."

After the other two had left, Ellen slept for a while. She awoke and 
sat up to light a cigarette and stare dreamily out at the flat, 
shimmering expanse of blue that was the Pacific. She felt no particular 
thrill at the knowledge that she was in the Hawaiian Islands. To her, a 
beach was a beach and an ocean was just a hell of a lot of water. Had 
Max not upset her life by dying, she would as soon have been back in 
the dark, familiar confines of the room they had shared in the building 
a block off of Haight Street, San Francisco. When she thought of the 
many friends, of both sexes, who had come there to make love to her on 
the semen-stinking, urine-soaked mattress, she grew homesick and wished 
she had not come to the islands in the first place.

She had no illusions concerning her chosen role in life as a hippie 
girl. She was well aware of the fact that she was not a real hippie and 
that the crowd she had met in the Hip Room were nothing more than a 
group of moral degenerates who had found it convenient to dress and 
talk like hippies as a cover for the constant round of dissipation that 
had become a way of life for them. Among those who had accepted Max as 
a leader, she had never heard a discussion on any subject more serious 
than the high price of dope, or how to stay stoned and sexually 
debauched without working. She had mentioned moving to the hippie 
colony, but doubted that she would be accepted by them. It suited her 
purpose to remain with the two girls she had met on the plane. If they 
wanted her to hustle for them, that was all right with her. She thought 
that being a professional prostitute was the best job in the world, and 
remembered with scorn her previous life as a virginal secretary in an 
insurance office.

A young man, blond-haired and husky, came out of the water before her. 
He stooped to retrieve a surfboard, tucked it under his arm and came up 
the beach toward Ellen. He stopped in front of her and stood there 
dripping, an appreciative grin on his face.

"Hi," he said. "You must be a new arrival. I haven't seen you before. 
Do you surf?"

Ellen shook her head, her long, blonde hair rippling across her back in 
the sunlight. "No. Is it fun? Why don't you tell me about it?"

He sat down beside her and accepted one of her cigarettes. He told her 
his name was Dan McCraken and that he was on summer vacation from 
college on the mainland. "Surfing is groovy," he assured her, "but not 
so good when the waves aren't up. Like that out there." He waved his 
hand to indicate the listless, two-foot-high surf. "That's strictly a 
bummer. What are you doing here? Are you vacationing, too?"

Ellen smiled and failed to answer. She was quite adept at not answering 
personal questions until she was ready. "You smoke pot or drop acid?" 
she asked instead.

Dan hesitated a moment, then admitted that he had tried it a few times.

"I thought you might have some friends who'd want to buy," she said. 
"In case you do, I'm holding."

"I might," he replied cautiously. "How about a date tonight? We could 
go to a show."

Ellen regarded him intently. She saw that he was less mature than she 
had first supposed. Still, he was big enough and old enough. He was 
apparently dumb and innocent, but he had a good, muscular body and, to 
her, cock was cock.

"Okay," she agreed, "but let's get everything understood between us 
from the start. You'd like to fuck me, wouldn't you? You figure if you 
take me to the show, and maybe buy me a hamburger, you can talk me into 
giving you a little. That right? Well, why don't we save ourselves some 
time? I don't give a shit about shows or hamburgers. I just like 
getting laid. So, if you want to screw me, never mind the rest of that 
crap. Okay?"

Dan's prominent Adam's apple jerked up and down and he blushed deeply 
under the peeling red and brown of his recently acquired tan. "Gosh! I 
never met a girl like you before. Yeah, if you want it, I sure do. 
You're the prettiest chick I've ever seen."

"I don't want to wait until tonight, either," Ellen declared. "There 
must be some place on this beach where we can do it."

"Sure," he said eagerly. "Up toward Diamond Head, there's a little 
cover. Hardly anyone ever goes there. Wait 'til I leave my board with 
some friends of mine." He rose and took his surfboard over to where a 
group of youths his own age lolled on the sand. He talked with them for 
a minute, then returned.

It was quite a long walk, but on the way Ellen confirmed her belief 
that it was probably going to be worth it. As soon as they were out of 
sight of the crowd, she slipped her hand inside Dan's bathing trunks to 
feel his prick, ascertaining to her satisfaction that his cock was 
fully man sized, and that it was already hard as stone and throbbing 
with readiness.

She calculated that they would be gone no more than two hours. Surely 
it would take Kalola and Lynn longer than that to get the house fixed 
up the way they wanted it and arrange the date with Mike Fuda for her.

The cove was as isolated as Dan had promised and was the prettiest spot 
she had yet seen on the island. He led her to a natural bower formed by 
red ginger and hibiscus. As they dropped together to the warm, white 
sand, she was already taking off her bikini top and Dan was staring in 
slack-jawed fascination at her pink-tipped, creamy breasts as he 
fumbled to remove his own shorts..

Ellen laughed. "You never see any tits before? Suck 'em, buddy boy, 
they're vitamin enriched."

Danny did. He thought she was the strongest, boldest girl he had ever 
met, but although she embarrassed him, she also inflamed him with 
desire. She was certainly unlike any of the scrawny, flat-chested, sun-
bleached girls who ran with the surfing crowd in California.

"Wipe the sand off of your cock and stick it in me," she ordered as she 
tugged to make him roll over on top of her. "I haven't been fucked 
since I left the mainland and I'm burning up. Ah, yes! That's it! 
Goddamn, how I like having all that meat in my cunt! Ram it to me, 
baby!"

Dan was fumbling and inept. She was only the third girl he had ever 
done it with, although he talked big among the other boys and bragged 
about imaginary couplings. Encouraged by her urging, he let himself go, 
jamming his cock in and out of her hot, grasping cunt with what he 
considered brutal force.

Ellen was disappointed. He came quickly, before she could, pulling out 
of her to leave her frustrated and still passionate. She sighed, 
realizing he didn't know any better. She would have to pretend it was 
all right and try to get him ready again. The second time would be 
different. He was grinning down at her, obviously proud of himself and 
believing he had shown her a good time. She kissed him and wiggled her 
hips suggestively. It was no use. They'd have to wait.

At that moment a shadow fell across them, and she looked over his 
shoulder to see another boy standing in the entrance to the bower. She 
recognized him. He was one of the surfers with whom Dan had left his 
board. Behind him were four others.

"What the hell you guys doing here?" Dan demanded angrily.

"We just thought we'd see how you were making out, little buddy," the 
one nearest the entrance said, grinning wickedly. "We thought you might 
need a little help."

"He sure does," Ellen replied for Dan, pushing him off of her. "Line 
up, fellows. Better yet, if one of you wants some asshole, I'll take 
you on two at a time."

Ignoring the protesting Dan, they crowded into the bower and one 
stripped off his trunks, getting astride of her with no need for 
further invitation. She let him enter her, then made him turn on his 
side so she could raise one leg. "Come on," she said to another of 
them, "do it in my ass. I like being double-decked."

She squealed with delight when the boy began working his prick into her 
anus and the first one started humping her. She imagined she could feel 
the two cocks almost touching each other within her body. This was 
living, she thought exultantly. To have hard, male bodies, smelling of 
sweat and salt water, filling her and hammering at her, hands and eager 
mouths mauling and sucking at her breasts, to know that this was 
happening while others watched, waiting their turn while they stared 
with burning eyes at her naked limbs, seeing the cocks tunneling into 
her ... this was the only time she really came alive.

She saw that even Dan was getting another hard-on. She rolled toward 
him. "Put it in my mouth," she told him. "Let me suck it for you." Now 
she was complete, every body orifice fully utilized, the three 
different kinds of sensation building in her all at once. She began to 
come, going a little crazy with each climax that followed one after the 
other in nearly continuous procession, each one more poignantly 
ecstatic than the last. Then her cunt, her ass and her mouth were 
suddenly full of cum, the sticky, hot stuff flooding her as the boys 
grunted and cried out in the wonderful agony of passion. Ellen came a 
final time herself.

She was limp and weak when they pulled out of her, but only for a 
minute. She called to the others, "Take me now ... the same way. Hurry, 
don't let me cool off." They willingly mounted her and fucked her with 
fresh enthusiasm. She looked up at one of the boys who had just left 
her body. "If you know more guys, go get them," she begged him. "I want 
a real gang-bang. Please!"

He pulled his trunks into position and trotted off on his errand. He 
knew where he could usually find at least a dozen of the surfer crowd 
hanging out.

It was two o'clock in the morning when Ellen walked into the house on 
Kuhio Avenue. She hoped the other girls would be asleep, but they were 
not. They were sitting in the living room, glaring at her and tapping 
their fingers on chair arms. An empty bottle and two glasses were on 
the end table between them, but they weren't drunk ... just furious.

"I know ... I know," Ellen sighed wearily, holding up a hand to 
forestall their attack. "I know I'm a cop-out and a bummer, but I 
couldn't help it. You see, I met this surfer and it turned out he had a 
bunch of friends and ... well ... the first thing I knew it was too 
late to keep a date with Mike Fuda and ..."

*   *   *

Joe Moto stirred uneasily and came awake. He listened to the commotion 
for a while. "I knew it," he scolded himself. "I knew them three cunts 
would be nothing but big trouble. Lucky if someone don't call the cops. 
Maybeso tomorrow I throw 'em out on their asses." But he knew he 
wouldn't ... not as long as they paid the exorbitant rent he was 
charging them. His Oriental soul would have known no peace had he, 
through petulance, allowed his temper to cause him to miss the chance 
to make a profit.



Chapter 5


Kalola awoke to a sense of well being. The raucous chatter of myna 
birds had awakened her. From a distance came the sound of a riveting 
gun, indicating that another high-rise apartment was being erected. 
These were the sounds of Waikiki, and she smiled with contentment at 
this proof that she was home.

She considered her situation and decided it could easily be worse. It 
was true that, after paying one month's rent in advance, plus a 
cleaning deposit and a light and gas deposit, they were nearly broke. 
They had a month in which to raise more rent money, and when the time 
came that three pretty girls couldn't make out well enough to eat 
regularly, then Waikiki would really have changed.

She thought about her newly acquired friends and decided that they were 
plenty maikai ... even if they were white and from the mainland. In her 
present, expansive mood, she was quite willing to forgive Ellen for 
goofing off with a bunch of surfers and forgetting her date with Mike 
Fuda. Still, there was the fact that something must be done about the 
state of their finances. She wrinkled her forehead and concentrated on 
the problem.

"Hey!" she exclaimed at last, "I betcha I know!" She threw back the 
sheet that had covered her, scrambled out of bed, her naked brown body 
gleaming in the soft light of morning, and ran to the other room where 
Lynn and Ellen slept. She found Lynn nude and sleeping on top of the 
bedspread, and she paused a moment to admire the white beauty of the 
redhead's seductively formed limbs and perfectly shaped breasts. "Yep," 
she said half-aloud, "she's just the one to pull it off. Lynn! Hey, 
Lynn, wake up!"

The red-haired girl stirred and opened her eyes.

"I gotta great idea," Kalola said excitedly, sitting on the edge of the 
bed. "I just remembered about Tony Nunez. He's a Portuguese guy who 
owns a big hotel out Pearl City way. He's got a big thing for white 
chicks with red hair. Any redhead can go ask him for a job and he puts 
her to work, no matter how dumb she is. Then, if she won't sleep with 
him, he fires her and hires another. They say he's got a Jap wife who 
gave him five kids and then crossed her legs when she caught him 
screwing one of the hotel maids. Come on, get dressed and we'll go to 
Pearl City. When you get him all set up, you bring him here and we take 
pictures ... like we were gonna do with Mike and Ellen. How about it?"

Lynn raised an arm to look at her wrist watch, then turned sleepy, 
green eyes on Kalola. "At nine o'clock in the morning?"

"Sure," Kalola agreed heartily. "Like you guys on the mainland say: 
'Early worms are for the birds.' Come on, get up."

Lynn groaned and arose.

It took them two hours to dress, have coffee and ride to Pearl City on 
a bus that detoured leisurely down Hotel Street and the Kalihi 
District. The "big" hotel referred to by Kalola when she first 
mentioned its owner, Anthony Nunez, turned out to be a rather 
disreputable, third-rate establishment, but Lynn was not unduly 
discouraged. She had already been in Honolulu long enough to realize 
that rent being what it was, owning any hotel could be considered 
tantamount to owning a gold mine.

They crossed the faded carpet of the lobby to the desk where a fat 
Hawaiian woman, dark as any African, regarded their approach with 
silent suspicion. She admitted, although reluctantly, that Mr. Nunez 
was in his office.

"If you're looking for a job," she told Lynn with open animosity, 
"don't worry about it. He'll hire you, all right. You'll be the third 
one with red hair he's hired this month. I hope you remembered to bring 
your diaphragm."

"How sweet of you to remind me!" Lynn replied. "I suppose that was what 
you hotel girls used back in your day. Well, it's the Pill now, deary. 
But, of course, you wouldn't know about that."

Kalola giggled as they turned away from the desk. "Gosh, Lynn!" she 
whispered admiringly, "I'm going to learn a lot from you about being 
bitchy. This is the office. I'll wait down the street in the coffee 
shop. Good luck."

Lynn's knock was answered by a gruff "Come," and she opened the door to 
face the biggest, blackest man she had ever seen. That he was 
Portuguese she had no doubt. It showed in his classical features, his 
curly, black hair, and a certain Latin air, yet it was equally obvious 
that several other racial strains, all of them very dark, mingled 
liberally with the European blood line. She introduced herself timidly, 
overawed by his impressive bulk.

"I suppose you heard I hire redheads?" It was a question.

Lynn blushed. "Yes."

Nunez chewed thoughtfully on the dead cigar that jutted from a corner 
of his mouth. "And you figured you'd get next to me and then find a way 
of taking me." It was not a question. "Don't lie about it. They all got 
the same idea. You know what happens to them ... those others who try 
that?" He laughed. "I give them jobs, fuck 'em and then fire 'em. If 
you want to play that game with me, it's okay. I'd like to fuck you, 
but don't get the idea you can make a sucker out of me. I'm too smart 
for you. Well, what do you say?"

Lynn didn't know what to say. She reasoned that she ought to be getting 
mad at him, but she wasn't. Kalola's scheme would have to be abandoned, 
that was certain, but what would she do right now? And yet she was 
reluctant to leave. Nunez was standing beside his desk, and she could 
not avoid noticing the growing bulge in the front of his pants. She 
wondered what it would be like to have his great bulk on top of her, 
and the thought brought an involuntary pelvic reaction that made her 
hips squirm.

"I won't deny that I had something like that in mind," she told him, 
"but I know when I'm beat. I'm broke and I need a job. I'd like to work 
for you."

He laughed, the booming sound of it filling the small office. "By God, 
you're all right!" he cried. "Okay, you got the job. You want to start 
tonight?"

"Oh, is it night work?"

He laughed again. "You better believe it." He handed her a key. "That's 
to Number Fourteen," he said, "on the top floor. Be there tonight at 
eight. Have your clothes off and your legs spread. I don't like to 
waste time. What's the matter? You think I was hiring you to scrub 
floors or something?"

"Nooo," Lynn admitted. "It's just that I'm not used to--"

"You'll get used to it," he interrupted. "Come here."

She took the two steps that brought her within his reach.

He didn't take her in his arms. Instead, he slowly and deliberately 
reached down for her skirt and drew it up around her waist, cocking his 
head on one side to study her exposed, lower body. "Yeah, that's what I 
like," he said with evident satisfaction, "good legs and hips. Turn 
around." He patted her on the fanny. "Nice ass, too. If I wasn't busy, 
I'd take you upstairs right now. Look here at this. You think you can 
take that much meat, huh?"

Lynn turned around to see that he had unzipped his fly and exposed the 
longest, blackest, biggest prick she had ever even heard of. It arched 
stiffly up, its circumcised head flat and broad, the shaft seeming to 
her as big as a beer bottle. She gasped at sight of it, her sharp 
intake of breath as much from surprise and interest as from dismay. She 
didn't want to touch it, but she couldn't help herself. Her hand stole 
timidly to the massive organ and cradled it gently, the slender, white 
fingers contrasting vividly with the velvety black flesh. She felt its 
warmth and the pulsing life in it and her crotch ached with sudden 
longing.

"I can try. A girl friend of mine is waiting, but she wouldn't mind an 
hour or so if you ..."

"Sorry," Tony Nunez said. "Like I told you, I got business to take care 
of. You be here tonight. I'm a three-night-a-week man and I'll pay you 
a hundred bucks a week. Okay?"

Lynn nodded and reluctantly surrendered her grip on the ponderous 
penis. She accepted an advance and went out of the hotel in a kind of 
dreamy daze.

"I got the job," she told Kalola, "but we can't expect to do anything 
with him for a while. It will take a long time to gain his confidence 
... I think." She had no intention of telling Kalola the truth, which 
was that at the moment she could think of nothing except that massive, 
masculine body crushing her and that pachydermous prick plunging into 
her throbbing cunt. What the hell! On a hundred a week they could pay 
the rent and even eat a little, despite the prices she had seen in the 
windows of grocery stores along Kalakalua Avenue.

She took extra care with her bathing and grooming that evening, 
although she judged from Nunez' brusque, businesslike attitude that he 
would hardly be the type to notice. From her small wardrobe, she 
selected a mint-green dress that complemented her eyes and hair and 
clung with revealing sheerness to her figure. She had trouble doing her 
fingernails. She was trembling and she realized that it was from 
eagerness and anxiety.

Lynn was at the hotel at precisely eight. The night-shift desk clerk 
was a Hawaiian as fat as the woman who had been there that morning. He 
leered at her as she started up the stairs and called her over to the 
desk. "You the boss' new redhead, hunh?" he inquired, licking his thick 
lips and grinning knowingly. "You some doll. Maybeso when Tony get 
tired of you, you come see Buster," he said. "That's me, Buster 
Kahane."

Lynn smiled at him. "Maybeso, Buster," she said and went on up the 
stairs. She found the room surprisingly neat and well furnished. 
Contrary Tony's instructions, she did not undress, but she did kick off 
her heels and make herself comfortable on the bed, arranging the dress 
as though it had fallen carelessly around her hips to reveal the length 
of her bare legs. She wanted her undraped, lower body to be the first 
thing he would see when he came in. She was aware that the nylon crotch 
of her panties was soaking wet with the musk-scented body fluids that 
had been draining from her all day, for there had been no moment of 
that time when she had been free of the mental image of Tony Nunez. She 
was so hot that she felt all she would have to do was barely touch her 
clitoris with the tip of one finger to make herself go into a violent 
orgasm. It was a temptation to do so, and she wished he would hurry.

The door opened and he entered. He was wearing white trousers and a 
blue aloha shirt. For all his weight, he walked as lightly and 
gracefully as a dancer across the room, the lust already lighting his 
face as he eyed her lovely, open thighs.

"You're some piece of stuff," he declared. "I've had some good-looking 
chicks, but damned if I don't think you top them all. If you can fuck 
as good as you look, I might keep you around quite a while." He 
stripped out of his pants, shirt and shorts, and she saw that he was 
not at all as fat as she had imagined. His body was overlaid with 
smooth bands of muscle under the satiny sheen of his nearly black skin. 
His dangling cock was already half-hard as he sat beside her on the bed 
and leaned over her to kiss her on the mouth.

Lynn had expected brutality, or at least a casual sort of roughness. 
She was amazed at the gentle touch of his lips on hers and the soft, 
light flow of his hand as it explored the contours of her thighs. "I'll 
get undressed for you," she whispered, her voice strained from growing 
passion.

"No hurry," he murmured. "I'll get your clothes off a little at a time. 
More fun that way." He disrobed her as he petted her, making a slow 
ceremony of removing each garment, and he studied the revealed flesh as 
though each part of her was a new miracle more wondrous to behold than 
what had been bared before. He toyed with each of her breasts, his 
fingers teasing the nipples into erection, before he bent his head to 
honor them with his wet, sucking kisses. When she was at last nude, her 
clothes a heap on the floor, he made a production out of covering her 
entire body, from forehead to toes, with tender, provocative kisses, 
neglecting neither the bubbling well that was her pussy nor the 
quivering, brown mouth of her anus. While he thus paid tribute to her 
beauty, her hands were eagerly stroking his cock and carefully fondling 
his scrotum.

"Oh, my God!" she cried, her voice nearly a thin scream of agony. "Fuck 
me now, Tony, honey! I can't stand more of this."

"Patience," he cautioned her. "Make it last. It's better that way." He 
continued to pet her and kiss her. Then, when he was ready, he warned 
her that he was big for her and that it might hurt.

"I don't give a damn!" she sobbed. "Just do it."

"Okay." He mounted her and began working his cock into her as carefully 
as possible. He had been right. It did hurt. From the moment the head 
of it entered her, the pain began and it grew steadily worse. It felt 
to Lynn as though someone was driving an iron post into her crotch, 
splitting her body inch by inch. Strangely, however, the pain did not 
diminish her passion.

"You going to be able to take it?" he grunted.

"Yes! Yes! Give me all of it, Tony. I want it all, I don't care if it 
kills me!"

He shoved it home, and the pain immediately subsided. There was left 
only the marvelous sensation of being filled, of being complete. When 
he began gently to rotate it and work it in and out, she felt every 
part of its surface in contact with the walls of her vagina. She 
clenched her legs around his huge thighs and surged upward with her 
hips, wanting even more. She impulsively set her mouth on his and ran 
her tongue between his lips.

The erotic kiss seemed to inspire him. He increased the tempo of his 
plunging prick and Lynn began to come. She sensed that she was 
approaching a climax of far greater power than any she had yet 
experienced, and the impending force of it frightened her, as though 
she expected her body to be consumed in the blazing inferno of her own 
lust, or her mind to snap from the tension of her tortured nerves. Yet 
it was irresistible, surging up from her loins like a great wave intent 
on sweeping all before it. She surrendered to the will-crushing might 
of the sensation and let her sanity and her humanity fall away like a 
burden too heavy to carry. She became all animal, a thing of primitive 
and unrestrained lusts. She was a body, tortured beyond all endurance 
and responding with naked savagery. She was a rasped nerve that cried 
for relief, a writhing, twisting, inhuman thing that was all feeling. 
In the throes of her madness, she bit and scratched the smooth, dark 
skin of her lover. She screamed like a wounded tigress when her orgasm 
finally came.

Before it was over, she felt the hot blast of his sperm deluging her 
inner body. The combined efforts of their frantically and spasmodically 
jerking muscles flung them around on the bed as though they were having 
a mutual convulsion.

Tony continued to fuck his own jism back into her until their frenzy of 
lust began to fade. His motions slowed until he lay quiet but for an 
occasional twitch of his buttocks.

After several minutes had passed, he raised his head to gaze down at 
her with dark, sleepy eyes still filmed with the shadow of his dying 
lust. "You did it," he murmured. "You sure as hell did it! Now you know 
why I never kept any of the others around very long--they couldn't take 
it. You're the first woman I ever got it all into, and the first one 
who ever gave me a decent hump. I'd marry you, if I could get rid of my 
wife. She won't divorce me, and if I boot her ass out, some of her 
relatives would get me for sure. I'm a strong man, maybe one of the 
strongest in the world, but I'm not bulletproof. She's got a brother 
who is a bagman for the Syndicate here, so you can figure how long I'd 
last."

"Don't take any chances like that," Lynn whispered. "I don't want to 
lose you. We'll just be lovers. Maybe someday something may happen to 
her."

"All right," he agreed. "I'm sorry I treated you so rough in the office 
this morning. I love you, Lynn."

She kissed him warmly. "I love you, too. You weren't really rough. 
You're the gentlest man I've ever known. After we've rested awhile, 
will you make love to me again? Can we stay here all night?"

"No. I'm sorry. If I'm not home by midnight, the little bitch raises 
hell and threatens to turn her brothers loose on me. You can sleep here 
if you want. I don't think I should screw you again, honey. Your pussy 
needs a rest after having me in it. But I want to suck you off. Do you 
like having your cunt licked?"

"I'd love it!" Lynn replied with enthusiasm. "I'll suck you, too--if I 
can open my mouth wide enough to take it. I wanted so much to suck it 
this morning when I had my hands on it. I'd have done it right then, 
gone down on my knees and sucked it, if you'd let me."

He shook his head. "I'm stupid. I wasn't that busy."

They lay side by side, kissing and caressing each other with hands and 
lips that grew steadily more avid. Lynn returned the compliment he had 
paid her earlier by making the grand tour of his body with her mouth 
and tongue, just as he had done to her. When she came again to his 
crotch, she gave herself the pleasure of kissing and licking at his 
asshole, his balls and the shaft of his cock. It was now erect and 
throbbing to the tune of his increasing fervor, a dribble of whitish 
fluid oozing from the slit. She licked it clean, then opened her mouth 
to its widest. She found that the head and only an inch of the shaft 
was all she could accommodate without choking. She licked and sucked 
greedily while her fingers played with the rubbery flesh and hair of 
his asshole. He pulled her hips closer to his face and, parting her 
thighs, thrust his tongue into the opening of her vagina. His tongue 
was large, long and very strong. It was almost like being fucked, she 
thought happily, but she was not disappointed when he shifted his 
attention to the small lump of her clitoris, agitating the sensitive 
gland expertly. She knew she was discharging heavily again, for the 
room was redolent with the fragrance of her musk, and she heard him 
gulp repeatedly as he swallowed mouthfuls of her body fluids.

She marveled at herself. Until her brother-in-law had taught her this, 
she had never thought she would want to become a cocksucker. Now she 
knew she was hooked, completely addicted to the erotic art. She loved 
Tony and would marry him if ever he gained his freedom from his 
Japanese wife. But she doubted if she would be true to him when there 
were so many cocks to be sucked in the world. She had loved her 
husband, too, but had not been able to resist the temptation to play 
with another man's cock at a dance. When she thought of all the fun she 
could have had in high school, she wished she had learned the trick 
earlier in life.

Tony's clever tongue was driving her closer and closer to the point of 
orgasm, so she redoubled her efforts. She was rewarded by feeling his 
muscles tighten and his bodily tension increase. Just as the first 
throb shook his prick, her own climax came about; then she was coming 
wildly as she jerked her hips in short, frenzied strokes to rub her 
cunt over her lover's face, yet not quite losing the contact of his 
tongue on her clitoris.

His hips shuddered convulsively as his pulsing prick began to shoot 
gobs of cum into her mouth and down her throat. She sucked and 
swallowed with all her might, loving the taste of him and as fiercely 
joyful that she had made him come as at the wonderful sensations that 
emanated from her clitoris.

Their mutual orgasm was somewhat more restrained than it had been the 
first time but, in compensation, was even richer in feeling and more 
prolonged. When it was over, they were finally and completely 
exhausted.

Tony left just before midnight, but Lynn was so sleepy she was hardly 
aware when he went. She had been sleeping soundly for several hours 
when she awoke because someone was sitting beside her on the bed and 
had the sheet pulled down. A soft hand was fondling her breast.

"Don't get scared. It only me, Buster Kahane," a voice whispered. "I 
got hot nuts fo' you, baby, but I think mo' bettah I wait 'til boss 
gone home long time. You give me fuck now, hunh?"

Lynn opened her eyes to see the fat desk clerk looming over her, his 
hands busy with her body. "Sorry, Buster," she said, "but you'd have a 
hell of a hard act to follow. What do you think you could do for a girl 
who'd just been made love to by a man like Tony Nunez?"

Buster sighed. "Yeh, all wahine say same thing. I no bigshot lover like 
the boss, but I got damn good prick. Whassa matta nobody want my prick, 
hunh?" He had pulled the sheet farther down and now had two fingers in 
her pussy. With his free hand he unbuckled his trousers and let his 
cock stand up. "Whassa matta my prick?" he repeated plaintively.

Lynn eyed the fat, smooth organ in the dim light and felt the saliva 
begin to run in her mouth. She licked her lips.

"Not a damn thing wrong with it, Buster," she said. "You just slide 
over this way so I can get it in my mouth ... and don't stop finger-
fucking me. I love it."



Chapter 6


Lynn was not sure how to explain her new affluence to her friends. She 
was ashamed to admit that she had fallen in love with her boss and had 
no intention of trying to carry out the original plan of blackmail. 
After making love to her, Tony had generously doubled her salary and 
delighted in buying expensive presents for her. She considered telling 
them that she was obtaining the money by rolling drunks at the hotel, 
but doubted that they would believe her.

It was Ellen who solved her problem for her and made it easy for her to 
confess that she was a backslider from the solemn covenant they had 
made to hate all men and take them for all they could get. She came 
into the house one day, the pockets of her slacks bulging, and casually 
began digging out bills and dumping them on the living room table.

"Auwe!" Kalola gasped. "You rob a bank?"

Ellen shook her head. "Un-unh. Those surfers I've been getting gang-
banged by got their monthly checks from their parents, and I sold 'em 
most of the pot and other stuff I've been holding. I got over five 
hundred here, and a new surfboard. Now we don't have to worry about 
paying the rent."

"Ellen," Kalola said, "you make me ashamed for all the bad things I 
hollered at you the night you stood up Mike Fuda."

"Me, too," Lynn echoed.

Ellen shrugged. "That's okay. I didn't really want to be a blackmailer 
anyway. I'd rather just fuck and have lots of boy friends, and maybe 
sell some ass once in a while when some square slob like a tourist 
wants it. I'm not so mad at guys as you chicks are."

Lynn gulped hard and took the plunge. "I haven't been exactly honest 
with either of you," she admitted. "About Tony ... well, I wouldn't 
want to do anything to hurt him. He's a great guy and I'm ... well ... 
I guess I'm pretty fond of him. But he's been giving me money and I've 
been holding out because I didn't want to tell you where I got it. 
Here." She opened her purse and contributed a stack of bills to the 
pile on the table. "I guess that about puts us out of the blackmailing 
business, doesn't it?"

"Not quite," Kalola said firmly. "I haven't got any money to put on the 
table, and I want to do my share. I haven't been lucky like you and 
Ellen, but I've got a naval officer, a commander, all lined up. I was 
going to meet him tonight and maybe bring him tomorrow evening. If I 
do, will one of you help me set it up to frame him ... like we had 
planned?"

"I will," Lynn volunteered. "I can't see Tony tomorrow night, anyway. I 
did have a date with Buster Kahane, but I can call him and break it. Do 
you think you can take this commander for much?"

Kalola nodded. "Maybeso plenty. His wife is coming out here in a week. 
I betcha she'd like to see some pictures of her man with a goddamned 
naked little native, hunh? If I get enough from him, I'll buy back my 
contract and then I can go to work again. Nothing is as no good as an 
unemployed hula dancer."

"I don't see why you don't forget all that hard work and just be a 
whore," Ellen said. "It's easier and a lot more fun."

"If I can't get out of my contract, I will," Kalola agreed. "Lynn seems 
to like it."

Lynn looked startled. "Hey!" she exclaimed, "that's right, isn't it? I 
hadn't thought of what I was doing as prostitution, but it sure is, now 
that you mention it. Well, what do you know? I've gone and promoted 
myself. Both for fun and profit, it beats teaching school."

*   *   *

The girls spent the rest of the day on the beach, swimming, sunbathing 
and watching Ellen struggle valiantly with the art of surfboarding. 
Kalola went to keep her date with the naval officer that evening and 
woke them up at one in the morning to report that all had gone well. 
After letting him kiss her and feel her legs, he had wanted to take her 
to a hotel room, but she had declined, saying she was too shy to do it 
anywhere but in her own house and promising that she would give in to 
him if he would meet her at the Outrigger Bar and bring her here.

Lynn spent the day setting her camera up so that she could shoot 
through an inconspicuous hole she made in one of the bedroom walls and 
hid with a trailing vine that grew from a planter.

Kalola went to keep her date and Lynn settled down to wait. Ellen was, 
as usual, in the cove with a bunch of surfers.

The appointed hour came and went and Lynn, hiding with her camera in 
the other bedroom, grew restless. She poured herself a drink and, as 
another hour passed, absently poured and drank three more. She was 
feeling very little pain when she heard a commotion in the living room 
and jerked erect with the guilty knowledge that she had dozed off. 
There were voices and, unless Kalola's commander was a ventriloquist, 
he had to be a least triplets. Getting unsteadily to her feet, Lynn 
opened the door a crack to peek out and behold Kalola in the midst of 
not one naval officer but three enlisted men. She was lying on the 
couch with her head pillowed on the lap of one and her legs across the 
lap of another. Her skirt was above her hips and her panties were on 
the floor. The third man was mixing drinks.

Lynn came out into the room and Kalola, seeing her, waved gaily from 
her supine position. "Hi, Lynn," she called, "have a drink and meet 
Jack, Bill and Ted."

"Wow!" the one named Bill cried, "dig the gorgeous, red-headed stuff!" 
He was the one who had been appointed bartender.

"What happened to the commander?" Lynn asked Kalola.

"He stood me up," Kalola replied. "The sonomobeech! Maybe his wife came 
from the mainland early. Anyway, who cares? I picked these guys up at 
the Outrigger Bar."

"But I thought you hated men," Lynn insisted with drunken persistence.

Kalola grinned. "I do ... except sailors. It's the uniforms. You ever 
notice how a sailor's uniform smells different than other clothes? It's 
so groovy I can't resist it."

Lynn shook her head. "No," she admitted, "I never got that close to 
one."

"Well, now's your chance, Red," Bill offered gallantly. "You can smell 
me any time. I'll bet you smell pretty good yourself."

"Watch that guy Bill," Jack warned, wiggling an experimental finger 
into Kalola's pussy. "We hear he eats at the 'Y'."

Lynn looked puzzled, and all three sailors laughed uproariously. "He 
means at the crotch," Ted explained, " 'Y' ... crotch ... get it?"

"Oh." Lynn brightened. "Sure, I get it. I get it every time I have a 
date with my boy friend. You hungry now, Bill?"

The young sailor blushed. "I never did it in public before."

"Chicken!" the other two shouted, and his blush deepened.

"Let's see how good you are," Lynn said, dropping into a chair, lifting 
her dress and pulling her panties off. "Come on, Billy Boy. Dinner is 
served."

He hesitated only another moment, then the sight of Lynn's beautiful 
legs and thighs was too much for him. He dropped to his knees in front 
of her and began kissing the soft, perfumed flesh. By the time he had 
reached her pussy it was moist and bubbling with passion. She locked 
her hands in his hair, pulling his face hard against her steaming 
crotch.

"I've never had the nerve to try that," Jack said, licking his lips and 
watching with envy.

"Aw, come on," Kalola encouraged him. "It don't bite."

He looked at her smooth, brown limbs and gaping, pink vulva surrounded 
by a halo of black hair, then impulsively bent his head and timidly 
touched her raw cunt flesh with the tip of his tongue. He became 
motionless with surprise. Then, with a groan of long suppressed desire, 
he began sucking and licking her greedily, if somewhat inexpertly.

Kalola turned her head on Ted's lap, unbuttoned him and took his cock 
out. "I get hungry, too," she laughed. "Fuck me in the mouth, honey."

They were in those positions when Ellen came in with two of her surfer 
friends. "Looks like quite a party," she declared. "Let's get in on the 
fun. Hey, what a bummer! The booze is almost all gone. Here, Danny, 
take some money and go to the liquor store for more." She went to the 
drawer where the three girls had hidden the loot that she and Lynn had 
accumulated and handed the young man two twenties. "Better get some 
grub, too." Then she removed her clothes and got down on the floor on 
her hands and knees so that the other one could kneel behind her and 
fuck her dog fashion.

Danny returned after a while with the liquor, some food and a dozen 
friends of both sexes he had found sitting on the sea wall along 
Kalakalua Avenue with nothing to do.

Kalola, who was temporarily disengaged from the sailors at the moment, 
was delighted. That the impromptu affair had grown to a full-fledged 
party tickled her happy Hawaiian heart.

"Why don't we have a luau?" she cried and was cheered by the 
enthusiastic response she received. Obviously the house was not big 
enough to accommodate a luau, so they took over the courtyard, around 
the perimeter of which were the shacks that made up the Pacific 
Paradise hotel. "We don't have time to dig an imu and roast a pig," she 
said, "but we can always get one catered from one of the big hotels." 
More people were dispatched with more money and instructions to bring 
back all of the ingredients for a first-class native feast. They were 
lucky. One of the hotels had held a luau earlier that evening and it 
had not been well attended. The chef was most happy to dispose of the 
leftovers, including most of a roast pig, pineapple, poi, limu, opihis, 
roast kukui nuts, sweet potatoes and mullet all wrapped and still 
steaming in the green leaves of the ti plant. Liquor had been purchased 
in copious quantities. Willing hands quickly set up the feast, and the 
happy crowd of revelers were joined by all of the inhabitants of the 
Pacific Paradise Hotel.

There was food, booze and babes and the word spread through the streets 
of that back-alley district of Waikiki known as "The jungle." Guests 
began to arrive in a steady stream. They were clad in shorts, bikinis, 
muumuus, beach robes and even nightgowns. They brought ukeleles, 
guitars and bongo drums.

It was not a quiet party. Had Joe Moto been home, it would never have 
gotten started. Joe, however, chanced spending the evening with some 
Japanese friends. He had drunk much sake with them and had won quite a 
bit of money at the gambling game known as "Hana Fudd." So, as he 
turned from Lewer's Street onto Kuhio Avenue, he was in a mellow and 
even somewhat expansive mood.

"Someone having helluva party," he muttered as the sounds of wassail 
reached him. "Crazy Hawaiians always having a party. Oh, well, what the 
hell? Why not have good time?"

Accordingly, he was somewhat less shocked than he might otherwise have 
been when he reached his own property and saw that he had become the 
unwitting host to the celebrants in question. Still, his Oriental sense 
of dignity and propriety was offended and he ran among the crowd, 
waving his arms and demanding to know what was going on here. He 
received no coherent answer. A blonde, bikini-clad girl he recognized 
as Ellen Canfield thrust a glass into one of his hands and a piece of 
greasy pork into the other. She bid him a warm welcome to the party, 
kissed him on the mouth and squeezed his cock through the front of his 
pants, then disappeared in the crowd. Before he could sputter a protest 
to this assault, two other girls, giggling at his apparent bewilderment 
and discomfiture, drew him down to sit beside them. They urged him to 
drink up, refilled his glass and made him sit while one of them thrust 
her hand in through his fly and began playing with his prick and the 
other took his arm, put it around her and snugged his hand up against 
her bare breast.

Joe Moto tried to control his spinning senses as he attempted to 
remember a certain saying he had once heard, and which seemed to apply 
to this situation. It seemed very important to recall it exactly and 
word for word. Ah, so! Now he had it. It was: "If you can't strike 'em, 
screw 'em." No, that wasn't right. Maybe it was: "If you can't beat 
'em, bugger 'em." No, that wasn't it, either. "Oh, fuck it!" he said 
aloud.

"Sure," the girl holding his prick agreed eagerly. "What fo' you think 
I got my dress up to my ass fo', hunh?"

Two blocks away, the manager of an apartment house that catered only to 
wealthy tourists, was annoyed by the noise that came from the Pacific 
Paradise Hotel. He called the police. By sheer good luck the officers 
dispatched to quell the riot happened to be men of mostly Hawaiian 
blood. They surveyed the wild but happy scene, reported back by radio 
that the complaint had been grossly exaggerated, then joined the party.

The feast was over, but the fun was just starting. The center of 
attraction was Kalola. Bare-footed, bare-assed and bare-breasted but 
for a lei of white plumeria flowers, she danced for the crowd to the 
accompaniment of ukuleles, guitars, bongo drums and shouts of drunken 
encouragement. She danced as she had never danced for the tourists or 
in any night club, for she was doing the old dances, the genuine, 
native dances of Hawaii. Her swiftly and gracefully flowing hands were 
telling a story that would have shocked beyond repair the missionaries 
who had so smugly supposed that they had succeeded in converting and 
taming the natives of Hawaii. Even a tourist could hardly have failed 
to interpret her gestures as she outlined her bouncing breasts, drew a 
hand up over her pussy and, making a circle with thumb and forefinger, 
ran the index finger of her other hand back and forth through it in 
graphic description of the act of intercourse.

When she sank to the ground, her dance ended and her brown body 
gleaming with sweat, a man grabbed her, flung himself onto her and 
stabbed his cock into her up to the hair.

That was the signal for the orgy. In a matter of moments, the courtyard 
was littered with a heaving, bobbing tangle of arms, legs and buttocks. 
The soft, tropical night was rent by screams and moans of delight, and 
the great, golden globe of the moon rose over the edge of the sea to 
bathe the scene in its ancient, mystic light.

Ellen was no longer homesick for the dirty pad in San Francisco. She 
was being passed from man to man at such a dizzying rate that there was 
hardly an instant when her cunt, her ass or her mouth were not full of 
cock. Semen ran down her legs and her chin to gleam on her nude body, 
and she was completely and wholly happy for the first time in her life.

Lynn was enjoying her favorite diversion in a fashion that satisfied 
her thoroughly. She had cornered six men and had them lined up on the 
ground. On hands and knees she went from one to the other, sucking 
cocks like an industrious bee sipping the honey from flower after 
flower.

Kalola, like Ellen, was being shared by everyone, including a group of 
four soldiers who had arrived too late for the feast but not for the 
festivities.

A young married couple from Iowa, out for an evening stroll, chanced to 
pass the Pacific Paradise Hotel and, attracted by the sounds of 
merriment, wandered in to see what was going on. They soon found out. 
Two muscular, half-naked natives whisked her away from her bridegroom, 
had her under a hibiscus shrub, had her clothes off and were taking 
turns with her before she could even set herself to scream. When she 
did get around to it, she was able only to mutter a muffled moan behind 
the sweaty hand that held her mouth while her white body squirmed in 
the moonlight and a long, smooth, brown cock was inserted into her 
cunt. It took her a while to realize that there was no escape and was 
going to be no rescue. It took her the same length of time to realize 
that what was being done to her felt very good indeed. When the first 
man was through and got up from her, the second one found it 
unnecessary to hold her by force. She smiled up at him and helped guide 
his prick into her throbbing slit.

Her husband, seeing his bride torn from his grasp, would have plunged 
after her, had not a foot entwined with his, tripping him and hurling 
him to the ground. Before he could regain his feet, he was attacked by 
a slender, nude body with flower-accented, tan flesh; a piquant face 
with slanted eyes and ruby lips was poised over his. He opened his 
mouth to protest and a tongue was thrust between his lips while eager 
fingers unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly. He was a modest young 
man and would not have dreamed of standing up with his cock hanging 
out, so there was nothing for him to do but remain there while a hot, 
moist vagina closed over his organ. He sighed then and relaxed. He 
remembered that the travel folder back in Sioux City had, after all, 
promised: "Exotic adventures will surely be yours in these romantic 
islands of the Pacific."

"I'll say one thing for you people out here," he told the girl who, 
astride him, was pumping vigorously up and down on his prick, "when you 
arrange a tour and make promises, you sure do keep them right to the 
letter. Wait until I tell the fellows back in--"

"No talk," the girl on him hissed. "Just fucky-fucky."

*   *   *

Dawn's hot, gilding light replaced the cool radiance of the moon. Even 
the Myna birds, which normally held court on the lawn and vocalized the 
daybreak with their shrill cries, were silent, stunned by the scene of 
utter devastation. The Dante-like debacle that spread before their 
beady eyes was the result of the damnedest luau Waikiki had seen since 
the days of King Kamekameha. There were remnants of food, empty bottles 
and numerous items of clothing scattered about all over the grass. 
There were also a few discarded bodies ... discarded by all but their 
owners, that is. Under the shrubs that bordered the fence, face up in 
the flowers by the walk, draped over porch steps and rails, even lying 
grotesquely nude in the dry, concrete basin that had once been a fish 
pond, brown, white and yellow bodies of various sizes and descriptions 
festooned the courtyard. Mostly they were still and quiet, although now 
and then a fitful twitch of arms and legs, or a low, despairing moan 
gave evidence that life still lingered.

Over the entire scene, almost as tangible as a miasmic mist rising from 
a swamp, hung the rich aroma of that musk that emanates from the female 
body when in heat, and the ranker, richer scent of drying semen.

Within Number Four, the three girls slept peacefully and sweetly, 
Kalola on the living room floor with three sailors and two soldiers, 
Lynn on one of the beds with five native men and Ellen in the other 
bedroom with eight young surfers.

By noon, most of the revelers who had been left behind when the party 
broke up, had aroused from their slumbers and, grinning widely to 
themselves when they remembered what a hell of a party it had been, had 
trudged home or to the beach. The sailors, soldiers and surfers had 
awakened, been reminded of other duties and appointments, and had gone 
their ways, although some had lingered for one last bit of intercourse, 
sodomy or oral-genital love depending on each one's personal preference 
with the girls.

The girls, thus pleasantly aroused, took one look out of the front 
door, shuddered and returned to the living room.

"Has anyone looked in the cash drawer yet?" Lynn asked.

"I'm afraid to," Ellen answered in a low, guilt-ridden tone. "I seem to 
remember giving money to lots of people to go to town for booze and 
food."

"I looked," Kalola said. "We're broke again."

No comments were made regarding this announcement, but the three 
avoided each other's eyes in mutual guilt.

Ellen, still not saying anything, got up and went out.

"Oh, come on, Kalola," Lynn suggested at last, "let's take a shower. 
We'll feel better. Don't worry about it. I've got a date with Tony, and 
I'll bring home some money tonight."

They showered, put on fresh clothes and found enough leftovers in the 
refrigerator to make a meal. They had finished it and were again in the 
living room, discussing the party in low, awed voices, wondering 
whether their landlord would throw them out as a result and, if he did, 
who would accept them with no money, when Ellen returned.

"We don't have to worry about the rent," she said. "I just screwed Joe 
Moto out of it for another month. You won't believe this, but that 
little bummer of a Jap is a hell of a good fuck. And he isn't mad at us 
at all. He says we threw a party that will be talked about for years, 
and that the publicity will keep the old Pacific Paradise Hotel going 
for at least another season or two. Maybe we should be in the public 
relations business."



Chapter 7


Among those who had attended the party was one who had appreciated it 
more than most, even though the reason for his appreciation was 
somewhat less than esthetic. Hoku Hamonu, known among his friends as 
"Wikiwiki", was a beach boy. He was from Hana, on the windward side of 
the island of Maui, and was one of the very few natives of nearly pure 
Hawaiian blood left in the islands. His grandmother had claimed, with 
great pride, to have been raped and impregnated by none other than 
Bully Hayes himself, last of the freebooters who had once roamed the 
South Pacific. The story may even have been true, for there was a touch 
of the pirate in the make-up of Wikiwiki.

Not that it was readily apparent. His protective coloration was 
perfect. He wore his wavy, black hair short, scorning the girlish hair 
styles of the mainland youth so widely copied by most of the beach boys 
at Waikiki, and all of the well-muscled, cookie-with-cream 
complexioned, two hundred pounds of his lazy, six-foot frame exuded a 
kind of smoldering and indolent masculine sexuality. He was so good-
looking he would have been considered a "pretty boy" had he been less 
obviously and blatantly male. Superficially at least, he appeared to be 
a guileless, happy-go-lucky, good-natured but shiftless slob who 
happened to be very good at his chosen career of guide, swimming and 
surfing instructor, and male prostitute. As a matter of fact, Wikiwiki 
was possessed of a mind that was one-third steel trap and two-thirds 
calculating machine. As he lolled on the beach, hands clasped behind 
his fine head, his innocent brown eyes fixed on the distant, heat-
shimmering horizon, his mind was busily at work on the problem of the 
three girls who lived in Number Four at the Pacific Paradise Hotel.

Being a man who recognized talent when he saw it, he considered the 
girls only a problem to the extent that they had a certain genius that 
was going woefully and shamefully to waste, a genius he felt would be 
better and more profitably put to work enhancing the life and filling 
the wallet of Hoku Hamonu, known as Wikiwiki.

At the party the night before, he had consumed less liquor than most, 
although he had taken an active part in the ensuing fun and games. From 
the vantage point of relative sobriety, he had deduced that the girls 
in question were not rich, although they had spent money like drunken 
sailors. Handling money wisely was not, he decided, one of their many 
virtues. No matter. People who could throw such an amazingly and 
spectacularly successful party (impromptu at that) had no need of other 
talents. What those girls needed, he saw, was the fatherly guidance of 
a man. Besides, he also perceived that in gathering them to his 
protective and manly bosom he would be acquiring a ready-made harem, 
and he was thoroughly fed up with making love to the fat, middle-aged 
tourist ladies who were his usual victims.

His decision made, Wikiwiki arose from his reclining position on the 
sand and sauntered slowly but purposefully in the direction of the 
Pacific Paradise Hotel. He didn't bother to knock but mounted the 
rotting steps to the porch and lounged in the open doorway. He arrived 
just as Ellen finished announcing her seduction of Joe Moto.

"Hi," Wikiwiki said.

Three pairs of eyes, brown, blue and green, opened wide at the sight of 
his handsome face, broad shoulders and massive muscles.

"Hi, yourself, gorgeous," Lynn replied. "The party is over but you're 
welcome."

"Take your trunks off and come in," Kalola invited.

"Hold on, you two," Ellen objected. "I saw him first."

"Ladies!" Wikiwiki exclaimed, holding up a hand as if to fend off 
imminent attack. "Let us remember our manners. I'll be most happy to 
service you one at a time, but no unseemly conduct, please." He had 
decided that the colorful pidgin that was part of his act when dealing 
with rich tourists would be wasted on these babes, so he spoke, 
instead, in the English he had learned while a student at U.C.L.A.

"I have a proposition for you. No, no! Not that kind! Oh well, all 
right ... pleasure before business, if you insist. Then, when I have 
satisfied your animal appetites, I will tell you how you are going to 
make us all rich."

"Oh, we'll love being rich," Lynn agreed. "But, for right now, why 
don't you remove your trunks? We want you to be comfortable."

"Let me help you," Kalola suggested eagerly.

"Me, too," Ellen offered, showing more enthusiasm than was customary 
with her.

Wikiwiki sighed and allowed the girls to roll his swim trunks down over 
his hips. He gazed upon them with fond indulgence as they went into 
raptures of delight over his long, brown cock with its bulbous, 
businesslike head.

"Did you ever see such a set of nuts?" Lynn demanded, cupping his 
scrotum in her hand and hefting the Brobdingnagian balls.

"If you ladies don't mind," he said, gently disengaging six avid hands 
from his genitals, "I'll first administer to the little blonde."

Ellen's blue eyes sparkled as she jerked her muumuu off over her head. 
She seemed undaunted by Kalola's catty suggestion that it was obvious 
Wikiwiki wanted to save the best for the last.

"Come now, little one," Wikiwiki said when Ellen stood naked before 
him. "Join me in this comfortable chair." He sat down, drew her to him 
and, lifting her easily by her hips, set her on his lap so that she was 
facing him, her cunt, so recently used by Joe Moto, poised over the 
head of the now stiff prick that had swollen and hardened to twice its 
former girth and length. He continued to hold her out to the full 
extent of his arms, as a man might do it examining a painting he 
considered purchasing.

"You're a beautifully constructed bit of ass," he commented. "I hope 
all of the men who have had you have appreciated the fine points of 
your body: the delicate shape of your tits, the cute, little curve of 
your tummy, your really magnificent thighs, and this delicious, pink 
snatch that is now kissing the head of my cock. Shall we let them get 
better acquainted?" He lowered her so that only the head disappeared 
into her body.

"For chrissake, quit teasing," Ellen said to him. "I want that big 
thing stuck up in me so far it comes out between my tonsils."

"Tsk, tsk," he clucked at her, shaking his head. "I see you have a lot 
to learn about the fine art of fornication. Slow and easy is better. I 
raped a blonde chick at your party last night. All her husband had ever 
done was to hump hell out of her as fast as possible. But even rape 
must be done gently and lingeringly. Before she left she looked me up 
and asked me for another date. Now, because you've been a good girl and 
have listened without interrupting, I will let you have another inch. 
Isn't that nice?"

Kalola and Lynn, breathless with suspense, were watching intently.

"Oh, my God!" Ellen groaned, "what the hell are you doing to me? I 
never felt like this before in my life. It's barely in but it feels 
like it's dancing inside me."

"Only throbbing," Wikiwiki explained. "It is excited and hungry for 
you, too. I have tried to teach it patience, but it is slow to learn."

He took thirty minutes to lower Ellen all of the way so that she was 
finally sitting on his thighs, his cock in her up to his balls. By that 
time, she was a nervous wreck, a mass of insanely tingling nerves, and 
his body no sooner came in contact with her clitoris than she exploded 
into a violent orgasm. Smiling smugly, he continued to hold her while 
she climaxed, then began lifting and lowering her with his powerful 
arms and hands, occasionally bending her toward him so as to kiss her 
writhing mouth or nibble at her bouncing breasts. When he finally grew 
tired of this, he held her snugly against him and rotated his strong 
hips to drive his cock in and out of her in a slow, perfectly timed 
rhythm. The watching girls, hearing the familiar, wet, slushy sound of 
semen, knew that he had at last deigned to complete the act and to 
honor their hippie friend by filling her cunt with cum. He released 
her, and she slid from his lap to the floor where she lay on her back, 
her eyes closed and moaning softly.

Wikiwiki smiled at Lynn and Kalola. "Who's next?"

"But you just did it!" Kalola protested. "How can you ..."

"I see it's still hard," Lynn pointed out. "Amazing!"

"Oh, I'm always good for three or more on one erection," Wikiwiki 
explained carefully. "How about you, Red?"

"I'd like to suck you," she told him. "It's the most beautiful cock 
I've ever seen, and putting a lovely thing like that in my pussy seems 
a sacrilege. May I?"

"Be my guest," he replied graciously, "but let's not hurry. I would 
first like to see you undressed and do a little petting with you. I 
suspect your figure is even superior to that of the blonde ... riper 
and more lush."

Kalola looked disappointed, but she didn't say anything as Lynn took 
her clothes off and sat on Wikiwiki's lap, his cock between her legs. 
They kissed and ran their hands over each other. He murmured 
extravagant compliments but, although Lynn had figured by this time 
that he was full of bull, she also knew that he meant the things he 
said to her, at least in part. As any woman would have done, she 
enjoyed hearing her breasts, her face and her legs described in glowing 
terms, and she liked it even better when he kissed each place as he 
spoke of it.

"I have a cute asshole, too," she said, laughing at him.

"Let's see," he said, turning her over and spreading the cheeks of her 
buttocks. "You sure do," he agreed. "You didn't think I'd kiss it, did 
you?" It was his turn to laugh as he ducked down and kissed her very 
thoroughly, then let his tongue curl up and around until it was licking 
at her vulva and he was sucking up the musky juices that seeped from 
her passion-throbbing cunt. Just when his tongue had found her clitoris 
and had given it a friendly lap or two, and she had begun to believe 
that he intended to make her come, he pulled his head from between her 
thighs and, changing his position, presented the head of his prick to 
her mouth. Eagerly her red lips closed over it.

"Easy," he cautioned her. "Make it last."

She tried, but she was so anxious he had to push her away from it from 
time to time to delay the final climax. His reason for doing this was 
not entirely selfish. He knew she was boiling with passion, not only as 
a result of his caresses but from the vicarious thrill she had received 
by watching him make love to Ellen.

"Rub your thighs together and hunch yourself like you were being 
fucked," he instructed her. She blindly obeyed and found that the 
action caused the mucus-slick lips of her vulva to agitate her 
clitoris. Before another minute had passed, she was having an orgasm of 
unprecedented strength. It came just as his prick began to jerk in her 
mouth, spurting loads of semen into her throat.

"How about my turn?" Kalola asked as Lynn rolled away, so drained by 
the discharge of physical and emotional tension that she was nearly 
unconscious. The little dancer had stripped out of her clothes and now 
she rubbed herself against him, purring and squirming like a cat in 
beat.

"Sure," Wikiwiki agreed, grinning happily. "I wanted to fuck you last 
night, but there were too many guys in line ahead of me. As they used 
to say at U.C.L.A.: 'You're built like a brick shithouse.' Back in the 
old days, I'll bet you would have been the number one girl at the court 
of Kamekameha. The old boy would have fucked you every night and twice 
on Sundays."

"Do you think the old days would have been better?" she asked him. She 
was rubbing her nipples across his face and she had his prick between 
her legs, massaging it lovingly.

"No," he replied, digging his fingers into the resilient, brown flesh 
of her ass. "I think it's more fun now. In those days, I'd have spent 
most of my time out on the reef, fishing. Now all I have to do is lay 
around the beach, screw white women and take their money. You're very 
athletic and supple. Can you stand up and touch your toes?"

"Sure I can," Kalola said. "Watch this." She stood up and reached down 
to put both hands flat on the floor.

"That's fine," Wikiwiki applauded. "Just hold that pose." He stepped 
behind her, placed a hand on either side of her hips and began pushing 
his cock into her.

"Hey!" Kalola said, "you got it in my asshole."

"I know," he replied evenly. "After all the screwing you did last 
night, I thought your cunt might be tired. Don't you like it this way?"

"Yeh, but it's the biggest one I ever had in my brownie. Gosh, I can 
feel it getting even bigger! You gonna come so soon ... right after 
already doing it twice with Ellen and Lynn?"

"Yes. Doing it excites me ... makes it harder for me to hold back." 
With one more lunge he began to squirt into her, and she could feel the 
hot stuff against the sensitive wall of her anus. Excess semen ran down 
the back of her legs. She straightened when he withdrew. To her 
surprise, he caught her small body in his arms, flipped her end over 
and stood her on her head, then stopped to push his face between her 
thighs and, holding her erect but upside down, he began to vigorously 
suck her clitoris. When she came, she felt like a fountain or a geyser 
that shoots straight up into the air. It was a strange but wonderful 
sensation and she was delighted that he continued, making her come over 
and over again until she was weak from the tension and dizzy from her 
inverted position. When he finally lowered her gently to the floor, she 
passed out, her supine body appearing as limp and lifeless as that of a 
doll as she lay across the equally inert forms of the other girls.

"Now how can I talk business with them when they're crapped out like 
that?" Wikiwiki complained, shaking his head. Then he remembered that 
he had a date with the young tourist girl he had raped the night 
before. "Oh, well," he said aloud, "I can always see them later. I 
think I'll only ask the tourist girl for fifty dollars. I'm worth more, 
of course, but I don't want to scare her away. She's very beautiful, 
and playing around with these girls has gotten me turned on." He put 
his swim trunks back on and returned to his own shack where he donned 
white trousers and a blue aloha shirt. On the way out of the yard he 
picked a flower from the plumeria tree and tucked the stem into his 
thick, black hair above his ear. Thus attired in his Sunday best, he 
went to keep his date with the tourist girl.

*   *   *

Lynn sat up slowly and shook her head, her expression one of dazed 
bewilderment. It took several minutes for her to arouse the other 
girls.

"Tell me," she demanded, "did I dream all this, or did some 
fantastically beautiful giant come in here, promise to make us all 
rich, and then, single-handed, fuck us all into insensibility?"

"You didn't dream it," Ellen assured her. "He accomplished in two hours 
more than all those soldiers and sailors could do in a night. Or, as 
you say, 'single-handed'."

"More like single-pricked," Kalola corrected them. "Maybe he wasn't 
real. Maybe he is one of the old Hawaiian gods come back to life."

"Real enough for me," Ellen stated, looking down at the froth of drying 
semen fringing her pubic hair.

The girls discussed their mysterious visitor the rest of the afternoon 
until Lynn remembered that she had a date with Tony. She hurriedly 
showered, changed and ran to the bus stop. She was only a few minutes 
late when she entered the room on the top floor. She was surprised to 
find the door already unlocked.

Tony was there, on the bed. His naked body, huge and black, was still, 
his open eyes staring at the ceiling. Lynn's mouth opened, and she 
started to scream in terror when she saw the wound in his chest from 
which the blood still oozed sluggishly and the red tide rolled across 
the white spread to drop in a widening pool on the floor.

Her scream was cut off by the shock of seeing a small woman with 
slanted eyes hurl herself from a closet, a red-stained butcher knife in 
her hand. Lynn did not need to understand the sputtering stream of 
Japanese words to know that this would be Tony's wife, that the woman 
had already committed murder and was bent on doubling her score.

Lynn did the natural and instinctive thing. She ducked and sidestepped 
the first lunge, then turned and ran. She went the length of the hall, 
down the stairs and out onto the street, not more than one jump ahead 
of Mrs. Nunez. Taking full advantage of her longer legs, she raced 
through the business district of Pearl City with her deadly pursuer 
close on her heels. The only thing that saved her life was the fact 
that Orientals in the islands are, by and the large, conscientiously 
law abiding. Lynn fled across an intersection on an amber traffic 
light, but Mrs. Nunez arrived just as the light turned red. From force 
of long habit, she dutifully stopped and was still standing there when 
a policeman approached her and asked her what she was doing on the main 
street with a bloody butcher knife. While he was interviewing her, Lynn 
disappeared in the crowd and went through a store that fronted on two 
streets. Emerging from the opposite entrance, she caught a bus and 
returned to Waikiki.

Mrs. Nunez convinced the policeman that she had been butchering a goat 
when she suddenly remembered she had forgotten to purchase any sushi 
for supper. She had not remembered to lay the knife down before 
sallying forth on this innocent mission.

Her brother, the gangster, arranged to have Tony's body disappear, and 
the word was spread around that the big man had gone to the mainland, 
deserting his wife and five children.

The police were the only ones in Pearl City who were not in on the open 
secret that Tony's wife had murdered him. Never a popular woman before 
her impulsive deed, she now became a favorite among the Japanese on 
Oahu. They expressed their approval of her by inviting her to all of 
their weddings, christenings and funerals. She was the guest of honor 
at the ceremony celebrating the opening of the new Buddhist temple.



Chapter 8


Lynn was genuinely sorry for the loss of her Portuguese lover and 
equally disturbed over the abrupt termination of her sole source of 
income. She wondered if she was, after all, a born loser. She had 
failed at marriage, at blackmail, and her most promising career, that 
of prostitution, had been disappointingly brief. Now that she stopped 
to think about it, she had been a lousy teacher, too, she admitted 
ruefully. There ought to be something she could do successfully. One 
could hardly put an advertisement in the local paper: "Cocks expertly 
sucked. $5.00 per orgasm. Satisfaction guaranteed."

Ellen and Kalola were duly sympathetic when she related her disastrous 
adventure of the evening.

"That leaves us right back where we started," Kalola stated gloomily.

"Yeah, even my deal with Joe Moto is a bummer," Ellen put in. "I can 
pay the rent by going to bed with him every day, but he wants exclusive 
rights to me. He says if he finds out I'm doing any fucking on the 
side, he'll toss us all out on our asses."

"I don't know what we're going to do," Lynn sighed.

"Why, we're all going to the island of Maui. That's what we're going to 
do," said a voice from the front porch, and the three girls gave 
squeals of delight as Wikiwiki opened the screen door and came into the 
room.

"Wiki!" Kalola cried, immediately beginning to divest herself of her 
skirt and blouse. "The gods must have sent you! We were all feeling so 
blue and now you come to cheer us up. Take off your pants."

"Nothing doing," Wikiwiki declared firmly, placing a huge hand between 
her nakedly bouncing breasts to hold her off. "No sex until we have 
talked business. That goes for you two as well. Lynn, please unhand my 
cock and, Ellen, pull your skirt back down."

"Oh, all right," Lynn agreed ungraciously. "What's this about Maui? 
What's over there?"

"The new, multimillion-dollar hotel and resort, 'The Hotel Hale-
Kaahumanu'," Wikiwiki replied, seating himself in the best chair in the 
house and determinedly crossing his legs. "You haole chicks are new to 
the islands, so you may not have heard of the Hale-Kaahumanu, and it 
was built while Kalola was on the mainland, so maybe she doesn't know 
about it either. Well, here is the story. The hotel is part of a chain 
that has places like it in nearly every resort spot on earth. The owner 
is a rich slob from New York named Euclid J. Barrington-Phaff. He came 
out here on vacation three years ago, bought up some property near 
Lahina and started construction. The Hale-Kaahumanu has been open a 
month and it's already in bad trouble. The cause of this bad trouble is 
Elmer McFarthingale, the hotel manager. Elmer is a jerk, but he got the 
job because he is engaged to Evangeline Barrington-Phaff, the owner's 
nutty daughter. Evangeline was a jet-set party girl and a real swinger 
until she suddenly got religion about a year ago. The Rasputin in her 
life is one Mathew Longworth, The Church of the Blood of our Savior. 
Anyway, Evangeline, influenced by this Longworth kook, is the real boss 
of the new hotel, and she's turned it into a Sunday School. She even 
makes poor Elmer require young couples to show a marriage license 
before accepting their reservations."

Kalola shuddered. "What a horrible place! What would we go there for?"

Wikiwiki grinned fondly. "To take it over. Look, old Barrington-Phaff 
isn't a bad guy for a haole, but he doesn't know what's going on. He 
turned the whole thing over to his son-in-law-to-be. I think it's our 
duty to step in there and save his investment for him. Of course, as a 
reward we wind up running the hotel and Elmer will be out on his fanny. 
Here's how we go about it: One of my cousins is the surfing instructor 
there, and he's screwing the wife of the man who runs the personnel 
office and does all the hiring. I can get us all jobs ... me as a 
lifeguard and you three in the kitchen. You start out by screwing the 
chef and you soon fuck your way into better and better jobs until, 
before you know it, you are so important to the operation that the 
hotel can't run without you. Then, when the time is right, wham! We 
take over. What do you say?"

"I guess so," Lynn said, frowning. "How do we know when the time is 
right, and how do we go about taking over?"

"You leave that to me," Wikiwiki said, tapping the side of his head to 
indicate that there, somewhere under his beautiful shock of curly, 
black hair, reposed all the brains that could possibly be required for 
an undertaking of this sort.

"Okay," Lynn replied, obviously relieved. "But can we do a little 
whoring on the side as we go along? I hardly got started as a chippy 
when Tony died. I hate to give it up."

"By all means," Wikiwiki assured her. "That's exactly the sort of thing 
that a resort hotel needs to liven it up and make it a success. People 
don't come here from the mainland just to look at palm trees and eat 
pineapples. When I'm manager, all the hotel employees will be dedicated 
to the entertainment of the customers. Just be discreet at first, until 
we get Elmer and his silly fiancee, Evangeline, out of the way."

"Now that that's settled," Ellen said, "how about taking care of us? 
You promised."

"No, I didn't," Wikiwiki denied. "I said there would be no sex until we 
were through discussing business, but I can't accommodate you myself. I 
have to work tonight to raise money for our trip to Maui tomorrow. 
However, just to show you that I am a thoughtful person, I brought some 
friends who will be glad to fix you up." He put his fingers to his 
mouth and whistled shrilly. The screened door instantly popped open, 
and three beach boys burst into the room.

"I want the fat one!" Lynn cried. "You like getting your cock sucked, 
lover boy?"

Leaving the girls to enjoy themselves, Wikiwiki slipped out into the 
night and hurried back to the hotel room where he had left the blonde 
tourist. He had lied to his new partners. He had plenty of money, but 
the slender, delicate bride fascinated him and he had not yet had 
enough of her.

He didn't even bother knocking at her door this time, but pushed it 
open and went on in. She was in bed with her husband. He was awkwardly 
making love to her and neither of them heard Wikiwiki's bare feet on 
the carpet. The beach boy politely waited until they had finished, then 
tapped the husband on the shoulder. The startled man looked up to see a 
bronzed giant towering over him and shaking his head in disapproval.

"You do not do it right," Wikiwiki said. "You go sit in chair and I 
show you mo' bettah how fucky-fucky."

"What?" the husband screeched, both in fear and indignation. "What are 
you doing in here? This is our room. You get out. Go on, before I call 
the police."

Wikiwiki still stood there, regarding the husband with sorrowful 
contempt. "Why fo' yo' haole guy come Hawaii fo' vacation?" he 
demanded. "To fucky yo' own wife? Tsk, tsk. Yo' gonna be long time 
married same gal. How many times on mainland yo' gonna get chance fucky 
cute native chick, hunh?"

"But ... but ... we're just married!" the man protested. "We're on our 
honeymoon. Besides, why should I let you fuck my wife. It's not ... 
why, it's not even decent!"

His wife laughed. "Robert," she giggled, "you're absolutely hopeless. 
The other night when those beach boys took me away from you and I told 
you afterward they were just being playful and that all they did was 
teach me an old Hawaiian game played at luaus, you were really stupid 
enough to believe me, weren't you? What a dope. As a matter of fact, 
they very thoroughly raped me and it was lovely. Then Wikiwiki spent 
two hours with me earlier this evening. You really should do as he 
says. You should sit over there in a chair and watch an expert. You 
could use a little instruction, you know."

Robert was shocked. "You mean you actually let this man make love to 
you? And now you're bragging about it ... right to my face?"

"You better believe it," she replied feelingly. "Don't act so prissy. I 
suppose you think I don't know about the Chinese girl you had at the 
party. And where were you today while Wikiwiki was here? Why don't you 
be a dear and go out on the town. I'll bet you could pick up one of 
these pretty brown girls and have yourself a ball. Like he says, how 
often will we ever have a chance to do anything like this back in 
Iowa?"

Her husband considered her suggestion thoughtfully. "I suppose you're 
right," he murmured. "You really don't mind, dear?"

"Are you kidding?" she asked, laughing. "If you could see this guy with 
his pants off, you wouldn't ask me if I mind. Now will you please quit 
yakking about it and get the hell out of the bed so Wikiwiki can get 
in?"

Robert got up then and began dressing. When he was ready to go out, he 
paused at the door and looked back. There was a tangle of naked brown 
and white limbs already thrashing frantically at the bed.

"You certainly have changed since I met you at the Methodist-Christian 
Youth Rally in Sioux City," he said, but the only answer from the bed 
was the sibilant hiss of heavy breathing and the protesting squeak of 
the bedsprings.

He closed the door softly behind him as he left. As he walked down the 
hall to the elevator, he was thinking that Doris was a very sweet girl, 
even though she had turned out to be bolder and somewhat more 
adventurous than he had supposed. He wondered if the International 
Market Place was still open. There had been a cute native girl there 
who had given him the eye earlier that day. Yes, Hawaii was a wonderful 
place and everything the travel folders had promised. Perhaps Doris 
would agree to returning every year for their vacation.

Wikiwiki withdrew his cock from the sucking embrace of the girl's pussy 
and, turning quickly on the bed, he thrust the head of it between her 
lips. From the way she gagged and sputtered, he knew this was a new 
experience for her ... that she'd probably never heard of such a thing 
before. Fine. He liked the role of instructor to the young and 
innocent. He'd teach her even more. He jammed his tongue into her, 
wishing, as he often did, that it was as long as his prick. Her skin 
was so white, so fragile. Her inner thighs were as soft on his cheeks 
as the caress of a gardenia-scented breeze, and his nose was filled 
with the perfumed aroma of her musk. What a shame for a jerk like 
Robert to have won a prize like this! After he became manager of the 
Hale-Kaahumanu, he would write to her. By that time she would be sick 
of Robert and he could talk her into coming back to Hawaii to stay. She 
would make a fine addition to his harem and he knew she would be glad 
to become a hustler for his sake.

Doris didn't know what to make of having her mouth filled with prick, 
but as it began to slide smoothly back and forth over her tongue, well 
lubricated by pre-orgasmic jism, she decided she didn't really mind at 
all. She stroked his legs, smelling the warm sand and sea scent of them 
and loved the feel of his softly haired scrotum thudding rhythmically 
against her nose, and she adored what he was doing to her with his 
mouth. She felt him suck the membranous flesh of her vulva between his 
teeth while his tongue did a little dance on the button of her 
clitoris. He had found her anus with one finger and was forcing the 
puckery, tightly muscled orifice to yield to him. Suddenly his finger 
shot into her. The pain was excruciating and yet infinitely thrilling, 
magnifying her passion and creating in her a white-hot frenzy of lust. 
He fucked his finger in and out of her and she loved it, wishing it was 
as large as his cock as she strained her slender body toward him, 
lifting her lovely legs into the air to spread herself even more for 
him.

Just before she began to come and at the same time to swallow rapidly 
as his sperm filled her mouth, she determined that she and Robert would 
return to Hawaii every year for their vacation. If Robert didn't want 
to come with her, to hell with him. She wondered if Wikiwiki would 
someday consent to let her stay with him. Maybe he would if she offered 
to become a whore and give him all the money she would make. She would 
write to him after she went home to Sioux City. Perhaps she could 
convince him.

*   *   *

The grounds of the Hale-Kaahumanti were a beautiful and gracious 
example of tropical landscaping and made up in part for the cold 
unloveliness of the towering edifice of glass and steel that rose, tier 
upon tier, above the surrounding cane fields on the edge of Lahina.

It was not the happy, bustling, prosperous place it could have been. 
There was a sad, hushed hollowness to the sound of footfalls in its 
nearly empty halls and an air of solemn, funeral morbidity to its 
dining room. There was music. Sound poured from many speakers, but not 
the lively beat of The Hawaiian War Chant. No, the listeners were, 
instead, treated to muted strains from Wagner's Tannhauser.

"This place gives I me the creeps," Lynn said for the hundredth time 
since she, her girl friends and Wikiwiki had arrived there a week 
before. She was off-duty from her job as salad maker and was lounging 
on the tiny section of beach reserved for employees. The man with her 
was Koko, the half-Japanese bell captain. He was a pudgy, soft-looking 
person, with a roll of fat above the top of his trunks and slanted eyes 
so slitted in his moon face that the irises were invisible.

"It isn't very lively," he admitted. "I don't think it will remain open 
for long if the owner's daughter continues to influence Mr. 
McFarthingale. The only guests we've attracted so far are people so old 
that all they want is quiet. It's like a rest home for the nearly 
dead."

"How about Mr. Martin in Sixteen?" Lynn asked. "He's not over sixty."

Koko shrugged. "He's leaving tomorrow. Shame, too. He's the only tipper 
in the place. I'd find another job if I could. He rang for ice water 
this morning and when I took it up to him, he hinted around that he'd 
enjoy a little female companionship and there'd be a few bucks in it 
for me if I could supply him. I had to let him know the policy of the 
hotel is dead set against that sort of thing. He got mad and told me he 
was checking out. Hell of a place."

Lynn sat up, her eyes glowing with interest. "He did? Look, Koko, why 
don't you use your influence to get me transferred to the room service 
staff? You get me a job as maid and I'll guarantee that Martin won't 
leave. How's that?"

Koko looked surprised. "You'd let the old fart have a little ... for 
money? If anyone found out, and it got back to Evangeline, she'd fire 
me."

"Aw, come on. Take a chance."

"I don't know. I don't think I better."

"Maybe I can change your mind for you," Lynn said as she looked around 
to make sure they were alone on the beach, then reached behind her to 
unsnap her halter top. Her beautiful breasts, starkly white against the 
tan of her torso, stood out defiantly and she wiggled her body, making 
them dance enticingly. She heard Koko's sharp gasp.

"I could be very nice to you if you would get me that new job," she 
suggested, smiling at him. To prove it, she unbuttoned the bottom part 
of her sun suit and began rolling it down over her lush hips. "How 
about it?"

Koko licked his lips and began to perspire. "I'm a married man," he 
said, "and I've been true to my wife, but I've never fucked a white 
girl and I've always wanted to try it. Will you let me do something 
special with you if I agree?"

"Sure. What's your perversion?"

Koko winced. "We could go up there in those bushes," he whispered 
hoarsely. "I could cut a small switch. I'd like to whip you on the 
fanny before we do it. My wife won't let me do that."

"Just don't mark me," Lynn cautioned him. "I want a nice, smooth ass 
for Mr. Martin, you know."

"All right," Koko affirmed eagerly. "Let's go."

They walked up the beach to the stand of brush, and Lynn lay on the 
warm sand while he broke off a slender switch. He knelt on the ground 
beside her and she heard it whistle through the air before it touched 
her buttocks with a streak of fire. She began to regret her bargain, 
but remembered that Wikiwiki was counting on her, so she clenched her 
teeth and determined to endure the pain of the flagellation. Again and 
again he struck her. Just when she thought she could no longer stand 
it, she became aware that the agony seemed to diminish now with each 
stroke. Soon the blows had entirely lost their sting, and instead she 
noticed a tingling thrill that ran through her each time he applied the 
switch to her skin. It was, she thought, something like the time she 
had taken a tablet of Ellen's LSD. The beating was somehow making her 
come more alive, increasing and expanding her awareness. She saw the 
sand a few inches from her face with startling clarity, felt the 
slight, on-shore breeze in a new and different way and the smell of the 
sea was a heady, pungent aroma she had never before noticed. She was 
also more aware of her own body and its nakedness. She was acutely 
conscious of how she must look to him, all of her back, her buttocks 
and her lower body exposed to his gaze. It thrilled her in a strange 
way she had never before known. She impulsively spread her legs, 
wanting him to see her cunt and her asshole. Her clitoris was throbbing 
as though each blow of the whip was a finger or a tongue stroking it 
avidly. She wondered if she was going to come.

"Now I'm ready," Koko panted. "Turn over."

"Oh, yes! Yes!" she breathed, tormented with passion and desire as she 
flung herself over on her back, having to restrain herself from 
screaming with joy as he mounted her and thrust his cock into her with 
one savage lunge.

It was a thing done convulsively and jerkily, done in the red, swirling 
mist of a lust that burned them both and drove them at each other like 
two mad animals in the frenzy of their heat. It was over quickly, but 
was so intense that Lynn feared she would die in the blazing fires of 
the orgasm that shook her every nerve and muscle.

While he lay panting on her exhausted body, his cock still in her, she 
put her hand under one of her breasts and lifted a nipple to his mouth, 
indicating by the urgency with which she crushed her soft yet firm 
abundance against his face that she wanted him to bite her. He obliged 
her, and she knew one more thrill of dying passion as his teeth crushed 
down on the magenta delicacy.

He raised his head and, for the first time, she could see his eyes. 
They gleamed at her strangely, still clouded with lust, remote and 
somehow excitingly evil.

"You liked it, didn't you?" he asked her. He sounded as though he 
thought that an unbelievable miracle.

"I loved it!" she breathed.

"It's better with a belt," he told her, "and there is another way ... 
with the end of a wet towel. The towel hurts like hell and leaves red 
welts, but they disappear in an hour."

"I want to do it every way you know," she told him. "You can make up 
some kind of a story for your wife and come to my room at night."

"If I had the nerve, I would kill my wife. That is why we have no 
children ... she won't let me whip her and that is the only way I can 
get an erection. She doesn't care. She is a cold bitch. I have dreamed 
about taking her far out on the beach, where no one could hear her 
scream, and having a really good time with her."

Lynn shuddered. "You better not," she said. "You might get caught. You 
can come to my room and use a belt or towel on me whenever you feel 
like it. Will you get me on as a maid? I'll give you a percentage of 
what I get from Martin, or any other man in the hotel."

"Sure. I can fix it this afternoon. Can I whip you again now?"

"Oh, yes! Please do!"

*   *   *

That evening, dressed in her new costume as a maid, Lynn went to Room 
Sixteen. She knocked lightly on the door and went in before the white-
haired man on the bed could answer. "Oh," she exclaimed, pretending to 
be surprised to see him lying there, his puffy, corpulent body clothed 
only in underwear. "I didn't know you were in, Mr. Martin. I just 
wanted to tidy up a bit in here. Don't bother to get up, sir. I'll only 
be a minute." She turned her back on him and bent from the waist to 
pick up some lint from the carpet. She was well aware that the action 
exposed her legs and the backs of her thighs to the lacy fringe of her 
panties. She took her time with the lint and, when she straightened up, 
she was flushed from the effort.

"My but I envy you," Lynn said. "You certainly look nice and cool that 
way. Goodness! There's another piece of lint." She bent again so that 
the backs of her legs were pressed against the edge of the bed. When 
she felt his flabby old hand tentatively touch her thigh she held 
still, letting him explore, then came slowly erect and gave him a 
dimpled smile over her shoulder. "Your hand feels good there," she 
assured him. "It's so cool."

"One way to beat the heat, eh, girlie?" he cackled. "I guess that dumb 
Jap finally got on the ball. Next thing is whether you can get me a 
hard-on or not. I'm not as young as I used to be and I sometimes have 
trouble that way."

"I don't charge any more to suck it," Lynn suggested, "and I'll bet 
that will get you excited. Wait a moment and I'll take my clothes off. 
Then we can have a real nice time."

"Suits me. I'll pay you whether I come or not. You're a beauty. Having 
you will be worth it, no matter what happens."

As Lynn knelt on the bed and took his white, limp cock in her mouth, 
she was remembering the hot sands of the beach and Koko's slitty, evil, 
thrilling eyes as he had begun whipping her the second time.

She could hardly wait for night.



Chapter 9


Of the nine guests at the Hale-Kaahumanu, only seven were of the paying 
variety. The other two were the owner's daughter, Evangeline 
Barrington-Phaff and the man who had changed her from a fun-loving, 
free-wheeling, jet-set playgirl-about-town to an other-worldly, mystic, 
religious nut--the Reverend Matthew Longworth. He had left his flock of 
converts in New York to follow her to the island of Maui ... all 
expenses paid, of course. Let it not be supposed, however, that he was 
in it just for the free room and board and the several thousand dollars 
a month he managed to cozen her out of. Not at all. He was also quite 
madly in love with her. He was tormented by the fact that it was, as 
far as he knew, an unrequited love. Never having confessed this human 
weakness to her, he could not be absolutely sure that she would not be 
responsive. He was sure beyond any doubt that her father had no use for 
him whatsoever, either as a man or as a prospective son-in-law, and 
only tolerated him as a minister because of what the old man hoped was 
his daughter's temporary mental affliction.

Caught thus in a sticky web largely of his own making Longworth was not 
a happy man. Should he go on bended knee before Evangeline, plead his 
cause and try to beat McFarthingale's time with her, risking the chance 
that she would not only reject him but also be disillusioned with him 
as her spiritual leader? This could cost him a tidy bit of cash should 
she order him to split the scene. On the other hand, suppose she 
accepted him ... what of Papa Barrington-Phaff? The old bastard was 
perfectly capable of booting them out into the cold, cruel world. What 
then? Work? He shuddered at the thought. No, better to let things go as 
they were for the time being at least, go on suffering in silence, 
hoping that Elmer McFarthingale would fortuitously expire from some 
loathsome and rare tropical disease and that Evangeline's father might 
then undergo a change of heart.

At the moment, he was sitting in Evangeline's room, watching her comb 
her long, golden-blonde hair. Well he was not really looking at her 
hair. His attention rather was centered on that place where the front 
of her dressing gown had been left carelessly open. He stared in 
breathless fascination as the movements of her arms opened and closed 
the gap in the gown, alternately revealing and hiding one full, 
gorgeously round breast and part of the other. If only she would brush 
just a bit more vigorously, or perhaps lean a little forward, he was 
sure he could catch sight of the nipple. Ah! There! This time for sure! 
Oh, hell! She had straightened her back the tiniest bit of an inch 
necessary to spoil the view he had so anticipated. Although the room 
was air-conditioned, his forehead was beaded with perspiration. In the 
crotch of his pants, gripped firmly between his legs to hide it, his 
cock was like a throbbing iron bar.

"Elmer has been after me again about entertainment," Evangeline was 
saying. "I suppose we should have something of the sort, but finding 
entertainers in this terrible, pagan, savage country is nearly 
impossible. All they know are their sinful, wicked, native dances and 
their coarse, vulgar songs. I just don't know what to do. What do you 
think?"

"Hunh?" Longworth grunted, the question taking him unaware. He had been 
only half listening to her chatter as he had allowed his mind to dwell 
on her body.

"Oh, yes," he said brightly and too loudly. "Yes, you are quite right, 
of course. Perhaps you can get Elmer to bring some talent from the 
mainland ... a good choir." Damn the woman! Now she had crossed her 
legs and the gown had fallen open from the waist down. How could a man 
be in the presence of those creamy, perfectly molded thighs and keep 
his mind on her silly conversation? What the hell right did she have 
being so beautiful, anyway? He'd have to get out of there before he 
made a fool of himself.

He chatted with her another few minutes, then excused himself and went 
to his room. He fell across his bed, tearing frantically at his belt 
and zipper then shoving his trousers and shorts down to free his long, 
white cock with its pinkish head and the aristocratic, blue veins that 
laced the underside of it. He gripped it in his hand, closing his eyes 
and visualizing a vivid picture of Evangeline's beautiful breasts, her 
seductive legs and the coral-tinted flesh of her vulva, nakedly exposed 
and gasping with desire for his prick. He pictured himself kissing her 
all over, nuzzling and mouthing her perfumed flesh, then mounting her 
and raping her with cruel, savage thrusts of his cock. His hand began 
moving up and down on his organ, slowly at first, then faster and 
faster as he writhed and groaned.

He came after a while, the grayish yellow of his jism squirting up from 
the head of his cock to fall on the bedspread, then, as the pressure 
behind it decreased, to only ooze out, running down over the back of 
his hand to foul his own clothing to collect in his matted pubic hair.

"Goddamn you, Evangeline!" he muttered. "Goddamn you for making me want 
you this way." Then, still holding his now flaccid cock, he fell 
asleep.

*   *   *

On the beach, Wikiwiki lolled in the slender shade of a coconut palm. 
With him was his cousin, surfing instructor at the hotel.

"We got the best jobs in the world," Wikiwiki was saying. "Man, you 
can't beat big pay and no work. Too bad it won't last."

The cousin, a man named "Teo", looked at Wikiwiki with suspicion. He 
had learned as a child that his good-looking relative always had an 
angle and was not apt to make even the most innocent statements without 
being shrewdly motivated. Still, even knowing this, Teo had been 
falling into Wikiwiki's verbal traps all of his life. Curiosity was his 
undoing.

"How come?" he asked at last, cursing himself for a sucker even as he 
did so and wondering what kind of trouble Wikiwiki was going to get him 
into this time.

"Not hard to figure," Wikiwiki responded, idly tossing a handful of 
sand at a small crab. "You know how much it costs to keep a joint like 
this going for one day? Plenty. So we got seven customers. How long do 
you think old Euclid J. is going to stand for that? I'll tell you ... 
about as long as it takes him to glance at the first month's balance 
sheet and then reach for a phone. Bang! The dump is shut down and we're 
all out of work. Auwe! It is a sad thing but, what the hell? That's 
life, I guess."

Teo nodded solemnly, relieved. Wikiwiki had said nothing that hadn't 
been discussed over an over again by all the employees. "Nothing we can 
do about it," he muttered.

"Maybe ... and maybe there is," Wikiwiki replied. "We all know what's 
needed ... some entertainment. Why, for chrissakes, did you know that 
the famous Kalola Kalikimaka, best and hottest hula dancer since before 
the missionaries came, is working right here in the kitchen? Did you 
know that Lynn Charles, the top public relations girl in San Francisco, 
is pushing a vacuum cleaner here? Do you think a dope like Elmer 
McFarthingale has got enough sense to see what is right under his nose? 
Hell no! Not when all his nose is good for is sniffing after 
Evangeline's pussy. Too bad the word can't get to him that he's got a 
couple of the hottest properties in the hotel business right on his own 
staff."

"Kalola Kalikimaka I've heard of," Teo admitted, "but who is this Lynn 
Charles chick?"

"You never heard of Lynn Charles?" Wikiwiki was shocked. "Boy, you guys 
who stay all of your life on Maui are sure provincial and dumb. Listen 
to this: Less than a month ago, the Pacific Paradise Hotel on Oahu was 
about to go to the wall. It was in pretty near as bad shape as this 
one. This Lynn Charles organized a luau that was the damnedest 
whingding Hawaii has seen this century. The publicity put the old 
Pacific Paradise back on its feet and took it out of the red. If you 
don't believe me, you can ask Joe Moto, the owner. And you say you 
never heard of Lynn Charles. Brother!"

Teo scratched his head. "So what?"

"It's simple," Wikiwiki said. "You're screwing the wife of the man in 
the personnel office. You get this information to her and she relays it 
to her husband. He wants to keep his job, just like all of us do, so he 
goes to Elmer with it. Elmer knows he has to do something, and do it 
fast. He'll grab at the chance. What he should do is make Lynn the new 
social director and build a regular night club-type act around Kalola. 
With those two kids working for him, this place will come to life. Will 
you do it, Teo?"

"I don't know," Teo muttered. "Remember the time you talked me into 
helping you start a whore-house in the old sugar mill building with all 
junior high school girls? We're lucky we didn't land in jail on that 
one."

"Aw, this is different. We were just kids then. How about your own job 
here? Don't you want to keep it?"

"Well ..."

*   *   *

The hotel's personnel manager considered his wife a smart woman. He 
never questioned how she always seemed to know more about what went on 
concerning his own job than he did. He lost no time in going to Elmer 
McFarthingale with the news.

"Sounds great," Elmer agreed, "but what am I to do about Evangeline? 
You know she'd never stand for a hula dancer, and I imagine this Lynn 
Charles is quite ah ... er ... modern in her approach to publicity."

"You have to decide between Evangeline and your job ... all of our 
jobs."

"I suppose so," Elmer agreed doubtfully. "I love her, but her father 
will shut this place down if some changes aren't made, and soon. If 
only there was something I could do about that Matthew Longworth 
character. She was a great girl before he came into her life."

"I know," the personnel manager agree unhappily.

These two men were worthy fellows, but they lacked Wikiwiki's pragmatic 
approach to life. The beach boy was not content with merely planting 
the seed of an idea in Teo's head, to be warmed in the bed of his lady 
love, the wife of the personnel manager, and then timidly bloom in the 
office of the hotel manager, Elmer McFarthingale. No, Wikiwiki was well 
aware that Evangeline, and her spiritual mentor, Matthew Longworth, 
were the grit in the fine cogs and rollers of progress and he meant to 
do something about them. His first move was to call on Ellen Canfield.

"Honey," he said to her, "how would you like to suddenly get religion?"

She looked at him to see if he was kidding, then shook her head. "Nope. 
Nothing doing. I don't have time for all that church going. I'm a busy 
girl. It's all I can do now to take care of my job in the kitchen, get 
myself laid six or seven times every day and then still have a few 
hours left for tripping on pot or LSD. While you're here, let's fuck."

"Not now. This is serious. You don't really have to get religion ... 
just pretend to. Now here's what I want you to do. First chance you 
get, you ..."

After a serious consultation with Lynn and Kalola on the subject of 
what she should wear, it was decided that Ellen should don one of 
Lynn's knit dresses ... with nothing under it but her own vibrant, 
young body.

"You got big tits," Kalola declared. "No use strapping 'em down. Men 
like a bouncy girl."

"You sure you know what to say now?" Lynn asked, her expression that of 
an anxious mother about to attend her daughter's first performance in a 
school play.

"Sure," Ellen replied casually. "Wikiwiki coached me."

The Reverend Matthew Longworth evidenced his surprise when he answered 
Ellen's timid knock at his door. He listened sympathetically but 
somewhat absentmindedly as she explained that she was in need of 
spiritual guidance and wondered if he could spare a few minutes of his 
valuable time to make certain matters of moral significance clear to 
her.

"Of course, my dear. Do come in and be seated," he invited her. She had 
unwittingly picked a most auspicious time for the interview. He had 
just returned from a session with Evangeline and had not yet had time 
to masturbate, so he was in a highly excited condition that her lovely 
face and sensuous body did nothing to dispel. He watched her wiggle and 
bounce across the room, sit on the edge of his bed and cross her legs 
in such a way that the maximum area of bare flesh was revealed. She 
regarded him with wide-eyed innocence, but answered a prompting 
question with unexpected frankness.

"I wouldn't dream of telling this to anyone else," she told him, "but 
you being a minister and all ... well, I guess you must hear all kinds 
of things ... like a doctor. My problem is sin. I'm just not sure what 
is sinful and what isn't. I mean, everyone seems to have different 
ideas about sin and I don't see how I'm supposed to know which is wrong 
and which is right."

"Hummm," Longworth mused, making a steeple out of his fingers and 
looking profound while he privately wondered if she really was as 
braless as she appeared to be. And, if so, what kept those amazing 
boobies so jauntily erect in defiance of the law of gravity. "Precisely 
what aspect of sin is it that perplexes you, my dear?" he asked.

"Oh, all of it," Ellen replied, "but especially the part about sex. I 
don't want to do wrong, but I do have to keep up with style and custom 
or look like a freak. Take these miniskirts ..." She picked at the hem 
of the knit dress. "They're comfortable and I guess the men like them, 
but are they really immoral? And then there's the subject of underwear. 
I hate to put on panties and bras, yet some of the older women tell me 
I'm a bad girl for dressing the way I am now. But I guess the worst 
thing is the dreams. Am I responsible for what I dream, Reverend 
Longworth? Every night I have these wonderful dreams about older men. 
You see, I don't like boys my own age; they're so crude and stupid. 
Anyway, I dream that older men, not real old, you understand, just 
mature and handsome and attractive like you, take me down on a bed, 
take my clothes off of me and kiss my body all over. Then they take 
their clothes off and get on top of me and ..."

"Quite so. Quite so," Longworth interposed. "I think I understand."

"I'll bet you don't ... not really," Ellen protested. "How could you 
know what it's like to be a girl and have a man lift your skirt like 
this and rub his hands all over your belly and down into your hair?" 
She pulled her skirt up above her navel and demonstrated with her own 
hand. "You try it," she suggested, lying back down on the bed, "and 
you'll see what I mean. How can I trust what you tell me if I don't 
know you've experienced it?"

Longworth was not exactly a fool. Like a wary fox, he smelled the trap. 
But was the overpowering scent of the bait more than he could resist? 
He knew she was putting it on a bit thick, but damnit there she was, 
all spread out there on the bed, her beautiful, young legs already 
quivering in anticipation, her open thighs revealing the puffy pink 
lips of her vulva haloed by soft, blonde hair. His cock was so hard it 
ached. And now she was lifting the knit dress even higher, pulling and 
bunching it up on her torso to expose those magnificent breasts. Good 
God! What was he to do? No doubt it was a trap and he ... he ... Oh, to 
hell with it!

"Do you mean that those men in your dreams feel of you like this?" he 
asked as he moved to the edge of the bed beside her and put his hand on 
the warm satin of her thigh.

"Um humm," Ellen moaned. "Like that, only they rub and pet me, 
especially between the legs, and then they kiss me and bite me all 
over."

"Like this?"

"Oh, yes! But they also take their own clothes off and they always put 
their pricks in my hand while they're kissing me. I'll admit, however, 
that this is much nicer than it is in my dreams. Oh! It's a lovely one, 
so long and so white! It's so pretty I hope you won't mind if I just 
kiss the head of it. My but it's juicy! I don't see how anything as 
nice as this could be very sinful, do you, Reverend Longworth?"

Longworth made a gurgling, burbling, indecipherable sound in answer, 
for his mouth was deeply involved with her sweet, young cunt and his 
tongue was probing the channel of her vagina as far as it could reach. 
Ellen sighed with contentment and swallowed as much of his prick as her 
mouth could accommodate. The thighs against which her nose was pressed 
were sweaty and hairy, but she didn't mind in the least. She was rather 
tired of smooth, dry-bodied young men. She had done this just to please 
Wikiwiki, but now she found that she was enjoying the preacher more 
than she had any man since that memorable first week with Max Kern.

He made her come quickly, his frantically eager tongue and sucking lips 
drawing all sensation along the tingling, vibrating threads of her 
nerves to concentrate it in that one, intensely sensitive spot, then 
sending it back like an echo magnified a thousand times to crash and 
reverberate in resounding waves of passion through her entire body. As 
she exploded in the furious release of orgasm, she felt his balls 
pumping against her forehead and then he was coming, too, the hot, 
wonderful stuff squirting out onto her tongue, sweet and satisfying in 
her throat.

"Now you know how I feel in my dreams," Ellen whispered when he had 
taken his face from between her thighs and had turned around on the 
bed. "But you still don't understand what it is like when they fuck me. 
Perhaps I better demonstrate that, too. If I play with your prick, I'm 
sure I can get you another hard-on. Oh, yes, and you must kiss my 
breasts. My dream men always suck my nipples and bite me there ... just 
little nibbles, you know."

"Yes, I know," Longworth panted. "Yes, I'm sure you're right. I'd 
better fuck you. I do want to be sure. Your titties are beautiful ... 
much lovelier than--I mean they are so unusually large and well 
shaped." He lowered his head to those perfumed pillows, their warmth 
and fullness caressing his cheeks.

Ellen felt for his cock, loving the way it fit her curled fingers. She 
put her hand on the back of his head and pressed his face harder into 
her bosom, and the smile on her lips was the secret smile of a woman 
nursing a baby.

Following Wikiwiki's instructions, Lynn was in the lobby with Koko. She 
glanced at her wrist watch. "It's time," she told him. "Go ahead and 
call her."

Koko looked unhappy. "I don't know that I should. Suppose she 
recognizes my voice? I could get fired."

"And if you don't do it, we could all get fired," Lynn reminded him. 
"Come on, get busy. Remember that little whip you ordered from a 
specialty house on the mainland? I could refuse to let you use it on me 
when it arrives. Pick up the phone."

Koko turned white and droplets of moisture appeared on his forehead at 
her threat. With a shaking hand he picked up the house phone and called 
Evangeline's room number.

"Mr. Longworth want to see you right 'way, Missy. You go his room chop 
chop, hunh?" he squeaked into the mouthpiece. He hung up quickly and 
wiped his head with a colored handkerchief. "Do you suppose the accent 
fooled her?" he asked hopefully.

"Sure it did," Lynn reassured him. "You're a doll, Koko baby. Let's go 
to one of the empty rooms on my floor and make love. You can use your 
belt on me first. I've got a date with Mr. Martin for later, but I want 
you now. Only I wish you'd hit harder with that belt. You're too much 
afraid of hurting me."

"Wait until the whip gets here," Koko reminded her. "You'll love it."

*   *   *

"I won't do it," Teo said stoutly. "This is going too far, Wiki. You've 
pulled some crazy stunts, but this is going to be really big trouble 
and I don't want any part of it."

"Bullshit!" Wikiwiki countered scornfully. "What can you lose? I'm 
taking all the risk. All I asked you to do was to steal a waiter's 
uniform for me. Lynn could make Koko get me one, but the little Jap is 
so scared now he's about to shit his pants. You're Hawaiian. Aren't you 
ashamed to have no more guts than a Jap?"

Teo hung his head. "When do you want it?" he muttered.

"In ten minutes," Wikiwiki answered firmly, "so hop to it. Right now, 
Evangeline Barrington-Phaff is up there in her room either crying her 
pretty eyes out or having hysterics. She needs to be comforted, and I'm 
just the guy to comfort a gorgeous, nutty babe like her. You want to be 
responsible if maybe she jumps out of the window or something?"

Teo looked confused, but he shook his head. "Okay," he said wearily, 
"but this is the last time I ever get mixed up in one of your screwy 
schemes. Absolutely the last damned time."



Chapter 10


"What are you doing here? I didn't send for you," Evangeline asked as 
the tall waiter in the too-small uniform came into her room carrying a 
pitcher of ice water. She was face down on the bed, her words muffled 
by the pillow into which she had been crying.

"Perhaps some mistake," Wikiwiki suggested meekly, setting the pitcher 
and glass on her bedside stand and viewing with appreciation the 
delightful, feminine shape so barely concealed by a lacy nightgown and 
negligee. Through the filmy material gleamed the pink-white contours of 
sensuously rounded thighs and the prettiest ass he had yet beheld. "Is 
something wrong that you cry so hard?" he inquired solicitously. "Has 
some man been unkind to you? How could anyone be mean to such a lovely 
angel of a girl."

Evangeline raised her tear-puffy face from the wet pillow to regard him 
with curiosity. She was a dyed-in-the-wool chauvinist, considering 
herself by birth, by race and by social position, far above anyone with 
a darker skin than her own. Yet she was sick with despair and 
heartbreak, and the tall, young man, as handsome as a Playboy ad, spoke 
to her gently and with compassion, and in her desperation she found 
herself responding to him.

"I have been betrayed!" she sobbed dramatically. "The faith around 
which I have built my life has been destroyed. I believed the Reverend 
Matthew Longworth to be a saintly, righteous, pure man, and now I find 
he has feet of clay. I caught him doing despicable and depraved things 
with one of the kitchen sluts. I hate him and I hate the God he 
pretends to worship!" She went into a sudden rage of temper, beating 
her fists on the bed and kicking her heels as though furiously pedaling 
a bicycle. "The dirty, no-good, mother-fucking, shit-assed son of a 
bitch!" she screamed shrilly, her profanity reminding Wikiwiki that 
this girl had been a swinger and, reputedly, a hell-raising, little 
bitch before getting religion.

"There, there now," Wikiwiki murmured soothingly, "don't let a bastard 
like Longworth upset you so. You're too fine and sweet a girl to throw 
your life away over a fink like him. Look, we islanders have Oriental 
blood, and we understand how foul blows to the spirit and the heart can 
be relieved by revenge. This is what you should do to make yourself 
happy again. You must revenge yourself on this man. I will help you."

Evangeline turned over and sat up, her gray eyes interested and already 
darkening with the murky passion of the evil thoughts stirring in her 
brain. "Yes!" she hissed. "I see that you are right. I will be 
revenged! I will cut his damned heart out!"

"No, no!" Wikiwiki protested. "Nothing so crude and so quick. 
Vengeance, to be effective, must be done with subtle cruelty so that 
the victim suffers over a long period of time, so that you may enjoy 
his writhings and twistings and his cries for mercy before the final 
moment when you tire of the sport and dispatch him to meet his gods. 
That is the Oriental way."

She nodded. "I see what you mean. But how do I go about it? A slow 
poison perhaps?"

"No. Mental torture is the best. You must destroy his image of himself 
and the one he presents the world. What is his reason for being here in 
Hawaii? And what is the thing he considers his greatest accomplishment. 
I will tell you. It is you."

"Me?"

"Of course. The rag-tag of followers he has in his church in New York 
mean nothing to him. His greatest pride lies in the fact that he had 
converted one of society's richest and most famous women ... you, 
Evangeline Barrington-Phaff. Through his lies and his deceit, he has 
turned you from the gay, happy, carefree life you once led and humbled 
you to the position of apostle to him. How can you most painfully 
damage him? Easy. You must deny him and all he has taught you. You must 
become a sinner on the grand scale, a veritable hellcat of a female, a 
low, lewd, lascivious and lustful wench, a depraved and degraded slut. 
Furthermore, you will be killing two birds with one stone."

"How so?"

"Elmer McFarthingale. Believe me, it pains me to tell you this, but I 
feel it's my duty. As you know, servants are the last ones from whom 
secrets can be kept. I happen to know that Elmer is marrying you only 
for your money. Would any man who really loved you have allowed a 
stinker like Longworth to treat you this way?"

Evangeline considered this news, then bobbed her head in agreement. 
"You're right. I should have seen what he was up to. I was only 
marrying him to please my father anyway."

"Tell me," Wikiwiki questioned her, "is Longworth aware that you saw 
him in his act of debauchery with the kitchen chick?"

"No. The door was unlocked and I didn't knock. I only opened it enough 
to see what was going on and then I ran back to my room. Do you know 
what that monster was doing to that young girl? She was on her hands 
and knees on the bed and he was kneeling behind her. He had his thing 
in her rectum!"

"Tsk, tsk," Wikiwiki clucked. "Are you ready now to begin your 
revenge?"

Evangeline looked startled. "Yes ... well ... that is I guess so, but I 
don't know how to go about it. If I'm to become a fallen woman, I'll 
first have to find a suitable partner ... I mean, a woman of my social 
position, I can't just do that sort of thing with anyone."

Wikiwiki shook his head. "I see you have a lot to learn about revenge. 
What will the shock value be in doing something like that with a 
respectable, acceptable man? No, to really degrade yourself, you must 
find someone who is as far beneath you as possible, a member of the 
working class ... better yet would be a menial, a servant like myself."

"Oh, I hadn't thought of that. I see. But who can I start with?"

"Well," Wikiwiki replied after appearing to give the matter his 
thoughtful consideration, "he should be a native, because that makes it 
even worse, doesn't it? He should be a servant ... such as, oh, for 
instance, a waiter. On the other hand, I wouldn't suggest you begin 
with someone so ugly he would be repulsive to you. You can work down to 
that sort by gradual stages."

"But how?"

Wikiwiki hung his head and murmured Modestly, "How about me? I would be 
most happy to be of service to you in this matter."

"You? Hummm. Well, why not? For a native, you are very attractive. Are 
you sure you don't mind?"

"Oh, not at all!" he assured her feelingly, his greedy eyes on 
magnificent breasts that rose and fell under the sheer gown as her 
breathing increased in rapidity due to the mingled emotions of hate, 
fear and excitement at the daring thing she was about to do.

"That's very kind of you," she replied. "I suppose you've heard of the 
reputation I had before I met that Longworth character, so you'll be 
surprised to learn that I am still a virgin. Will it hurt?"

"Yes," he answered honestly. "It will hurt a little and it will be 
messy. There is usually some blood. But just think how the pain and the 
blood add to the degradation. Remember that you are about to be fucked 
by a black, ignorant savage, and a servant at that, one you wouldn't 
ordinarily stoop to speak to ... except to give a command. Ah, your 
revenge will be very complete with my help! If you are ready, let's do 
it now. Later, you can tell Longworth, and the whole world, what you 
have done. You can be seen necking with me in public, and we can 
arrange to get ourselves thrown out of the best and the worst places in 
the islands for unbecoming conduct. I will teach you to dress, look and 
talk like the lowest and cheapest whore. Lay back down on the bed and 
pull your gown up. See, I am removing my trousers."

"I ... I don't know," Evangeline quavered, her face contorted with 
indecision and sudden doubt as she gazed with wide, frightened eyes and 
sagging chin at Wikiwiki's naked loins from which arched up the 
fearsome length of his bronzed and quivering prick, the small, vertical 
mouth in the darker head already drooling in anticipation. "I don't 
think I should. Maybe I better ..."

"Too late!" he cried and launched himself upon her like a young 
panther. A brutal knee went up between hers, forcing her legs apart as, 
with one ripping motion of his hand, he tore her gown from neckline to 
hem, exposing her great, gorgeous breasts. "You've been spoiling for 
this for years," he grunted. "A good fucking is all you've ever needed 
to make a woman out of you. That's it ... fight me. Make it rape and 
then it will be even better when you tell it to Longworth. When I'm 
through with you, you'll be ready to screw anything with a cock and 
balls. You'll crawl on your knees and beg and whine to get it from any 
man. You'll fuck in the back seats of cars, on the beach and in alleys 
between the garbage cans and think you're lucky to get the chance. 
They'll call you 'splatter ass' and 'punchboard' and 'roundheels' and 
you'll love those names. Longworth will hate the day he ever met you. 
Say goodbye to your maidenhead. After this you're a slut ... lower than 
that girl from the kitchen."

With one mighty lunge of his powerful body, he drove his cock into her 
to the hilt. He grinned in delight to feel the head of it tearing its 
way through the tender, membranous lining of her cunt. His laughter was 
as loud as her piercing scream of agony. The shock and the pain of the 
initial assault kept her from fighting him as he slowly began to fuck 
her, his big cock probing her hitherto untried and unused, inner 
person. He was deriving more pleasure from her than from any other of 
the many women and girls he had rolled in the hay during his busy 
career. In the first place, she was the most beautiful woman he had 
ever known and, as he deliberately prolonged the act, he was extremely 
conscious of the lush, creamy body under him, of the fabulous breasts 
crushed against his chest and of the soft, womanly thighs that 
surpassed in beauty the thighs of Aphrodite. Not normally either an 
unkind or even unchivalrous fellow, his intense desire for her was not 
unmixed with hate. He was aware of her racial prejudice, and it gave 
him a certain fiendish pleasure to have outwitted her and conquered 
her.

He made it last a long time ... long enough for the pain he was causing 
her to subside and for her to recover from the brain-numbing effects of 
shock so that she was fully aware of her situation. She realized the 
futility of fighting him and strove only to get away from his punishing 
prick, but he held her by the weight of his body and the strength of 
his powerful arms. She begged and cursed and threatened, but he ignored 
her, not caring how loud she screamed, for he knew that her suite was 
the only one occupied on the top floor. Worn out at last from her 
strenuous efforts, she lay slack and unmoving beneath him, even the 
source of her tears eventually running dry.

He continued the deliberate, even rhythm of his fucking until he could 
no longer hold back the gathering tension of his nervous system, and at 
last his orgasm was triggered. His feverishly pumping testicles drove 
the cum into her in a gushing torrent, flooding her cunt and oozing out 
to run down the crack of her ass onto the bed. His coming shook him as 
he had never been shaken before. For the first time in his life, it was 
a total thing, a complete bodily and mental involvement that took 
control of him, wrenched him this way and that, then drained him out 
through the head of his cock so that he experienced the strange 
knowledge that he had, in fucking her, somehow become part of her and 
that he would never again be a whole person without her.

"Will you let me go now?" she asked him when she knew he was through. 
"This was partly my fault. I'm willing to forgive you. I should never 
have listened to your crazy idea about revenge in the first place. 
Please let me go. You've ruined me. Isn't that enough for you?"

"No!" he whispered fiercely, his face in the misty cloud of her blonde 
hair, his lips touching the perfumed rose petal of her ear. "I'll never 
let you go. I haven't ruined you. I've begun to make a real woman out 
of you, and I like what I've created. I can't stop now."

"What else is there, then?"

"This." He fastened his mouth to hers and kissed her as she had never 
been kissed. Again she struggled, but he held her firmly, not desisting 
until her lips were puffed and swollen from the contact, her tongue 
tingling from being sucked into his mouth and caressed by his own 
tongue. When she was weak from lack of breath and from her ineffective 
effort to break away, he lowered his head to her breasts and began to 
work on her nipples. He released his hold on her wrists to free his 
hand so that he might stroke her body, tracing the curvature of her 
torso and a sweetly rounded hip. His hand learned the shape of her 
thighs, feeling for the tender, silken skin on their inner surfaces and 
coming at last to her vulva, slick and greasy from his own semen, 
puffed and sensitive from the violence with which he had entered her 
and from the friction of his prick. He sought and found her clitoris. 
She gasped when he touched it but made no effort toward further 
resistance.

The seconds and the minutes ticked by, stretching toward a half-hour 
before he gradually became aware that the arms he had released now 
encircled his broad shoulders, that Evangeline's breathing had 
increased in pace and that an occasional tremor ran through the length 
of her body. He continued his artful manipulation of her clitoris and 
felt her hips stir, tentatively at first, then with a surer movement. 
Now she was rotating them smoothly in time to the circular motion of 
his finger, uttering small moans of pleasure. Her hand went to the back 
of his head, pressing his face deeper into the perfumed opulence of her 
breast and sighing with contentment when his teeth delicately nipped 
the swollen, hard flesh of her nipple.

When she was writhing and twisting beneath him, half-sobbing in a new 
kind of torment, he again mounted her. This time she spread her legs, 
welcoming him. He was gentle with her, easing his cock into her hot, 
wet, engulfing flesh. She groaned and arched her back, her cunt begging 
for more of him, her hands frantically digging into the cheeks of his 
ass to pull him into her.

"Oh, God, yes!" she muttered. "Do it to me, darling! I love you! Oh, 
God how I love you!"

"And I love you, too," Wikiwiki heard himself echo her, wondering at 
the sound of the words issuing from his mouth. Never before had he 
listened to himself say such a thing to a girl.

He wanted to come, but he held back, using all of his art to induce an 
orgasm in her first. And he was rewarded for his effort. At first he 
thought she was crying again and that he must be hurting her. Then he 
realized that the low-pitched keening that came from her was her song 
of passion, fitting accompaniment to the wild, urgent dance of her hips 
and the frenetic, mad drumming of her heels on the backs of his thighs. 
Her long, scarlet-tipped fingernails dug into his muscle and, in the 
insanity of her unbearable rapture, she bit his shoulder.

"I'm coming!" she screamed. "I'm coming, sweetheart! Fuck me, darling! 
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Oh, blessed Jesus! Oh, blessed fuck!" Her 
voice trailed off in a prolonged groan of anguish like the sound of an 
ambulance siren fading into the night. Her body, bent like a bow, grew 
rigid and trembled, every muscle undergoing a series of short, violent 
spasms. She relaxed and came down to the bed as though she was slowly 
and languidly drifting down to it from a great height. She was dimly 
aware that his flowing tide had once more filled her cunt to 
overflowing, and she lay there, a secret, knowing, happy smile on her 
face to feel it running, first hot and sticky and then cool, down her 
thighs and onto the cheeks of her ass.

When he would have pulled his dripping cock from her, she held him with 
her hands, telling him not to take it out ... to leave it in there 
always. She kissed him, and he thought the taste of her lips as sweet 
as ginger blooms at midnight on the slopes of Tantalus.

*   *   *

It was the following day before Elmer McFarthingale discovered that his 
fiancee was no longer in the hotel. He had supposed at first that she 
was simply in one of her frequent moods and refusing to answer either 
her door or her room telephone. When, in desperation, he unlocked the 
door and went in, the unmade bed told the story as well as the note she 
had left. The sheets were spotted with dried blood and stiff with the 
yellow stain of dried semen.

The note was brief and explicit:


Elmer, you son of a bitch:

I'm leaving. Run your goddamned hotel any way you wish, you stiff-
necked, stuffy, fortune-hunting bastard.

Miss Barrington-Phaff


"Who?" Elmer muttered aloud. "Who the hell got her? Longworth? No, he's 
still around. So there goes my love life and the Barrington-Phaff 
millions down the drain. Come to think of it, was the money really 
worth the price? I'd liked to have been the guy who fucked her and made 
her like it," he thought wistfully, "but I'm not sure I envy him if 
he's stuck with her. Okay, Evangeline, my kooky ex-fiancee, I'll take 
you at your word and run this place to suit myself. Maybe I can at 
least save my job and my reputation as a hotel man." Feeling vastly 
relieved, he went downstairs to his office and sent a bellboy to find 
Lynn Charles and Kalola Kalikimaka.

After a conference that lasted two hours, Lynn left the office with the 
new title of Social Director with a free hand to use her own ingenuity 
in making the Hale-Kaahumanu the swingingest hotel in the Hawaiian 
Islands.

Kalola remained.

"Are you really a top dancer?" Elmer asked her. "Forgive my ignorance, 
but I'm new to the islands and--"

"Sure." Kalola grinned impishly. "I show you." Before the startled 
hotel manager was aware of her intentions, she had jumped up from her 
chair and divested herself of her muumuu. Naked but for her long, 
glistening, black hair, she posed before him, her brown body gleaming 
in the wan light of late afternoon. "This is called 'The Dance of The 
Deflowered Maiden,'" she announced, her hands touching in front of her 
and her feet beginning to shuffle on the floor.

Elmer sat entranced, not understanding the language of her talking 
hands but goggle-eyed as he drank in the beauty of her bouncing, brown 
breasts and the play of her sensuously flashing thighs.

"And this is called 'Tahitian Shimmy,'" she said, her hips rotating in 
a blur of motion that made it appear they were on well-oiled ball 
bearings.

"That dance is very good for getting male customers all excited," she 
declared as the dance ended. "You think so, hunh? Yes, you think so," 
she decided sagely as she went around to the desk to sit on his lap and 
squeeze his steel-stiff cock through his pants. "You were supposed to 
keep your eyes on my hands," she chided him, "but I think you watch my 
titties all the time. You like my titties, huh? Take your pants off, 
Mr. McFarthingale. How can you fuck me with your pants on? I think 
you're cute."



Chapter 11


Lynn, Ellen and Kalola were gathered in Lynn's room. "Everything has 
worked out just as Wikiwiki promised it would," Lynn was saying. "We've 
fucked ourselves into important positions on the hotel staff, though 
his clever, conniving, Evangeline is no longer here to dominate Elmer 
and dictate policy, and now, what with the show Kalola and her troupe 
put on every night, plus the fact that Ellen has gotten jobs here for 
every whore, professional or amateur, on Maui, this has become the most 
popular resort hotel in the South Pacific. We're sold out and have 
reservations ahead for six months. Elmer showed me a letter this 
morning from Euclid J. Barrington-Phaff praising the management to the 
skies. There was a personal note at the end assuring Elmer that he had 
no cause to worry concerning the breaking of his engagement with 
Evangeline, that the old man has disinherited her and has no further 
interest in her conduct or whereabouts. So I guess everything is just 
dandy."

"The hell it is," Ellen replied glumly. "Without Wikiwiki around, what 
fun is it? I miss him."

"We all do," Kalola agreed unhappily. She took a long, reflective drag 
on the marijuana cigarette she was smoking and passed the butt to Lynn. 
"Besides, this isn't the way it was supposed to work at all. Wikiwiki 
was supposed to wind up as manager of the hotel. Instead he vanishes 
and Elmer gets all the glory. You don't suppose he's dead, do you?" she 
asked Lynn.

"I don't think so," the redhead replied. "I figure his disappearance 
has something to do with Evangeline. To get her out of our hair, he had 
to take her a hell of a long way from here maybe. It's just taking him 
a long time to get back ... I hope."

"This whole caper has been more trouble than it was worth," Ellen 
declared. "I told you right from the first that the easiest and nicest 
way for us to make a living was just to be whores and maybe sell a 
little pot or 'L' on the side. I didn't mind going along with it while 
we had Wikiwiki, but now we've lost him, too. Gosh! Nobody fucks the 
groovy way he does. The Reverend Longworth was pretty good, but Elmer 
ran him off after Evangeline copped out."

"Well, we have to stay here and do the best we can without him," Lynn 
declared loyally, "just in case he does come back."

The other two nodded in silent, sorrowful agreement.

*   *   *

It was on the following morning that Elmer came bustling into Lynn's 
office, beaming with excitement and happiness.

"We got it!" he cried, waving a cablegram in the air as though it were 
a triumphal banner. "We got it!"

"Got what?" Lynn asked mildly.

"The convention!" Elmer chortled. "See? This is from the boss in New 
York. The old boy swung it, by George! We are going to host the A.A. of 
S.P.M. convention. Do you know what that means, Miss Charles? Why, this 
is one of the biggest convention groups in the country. Every hotel 
from Florida to California has been angling for it. If we handle this 
one successfully, we'll become the top convention hotel in America. 
That's what it means!"

"And what is the A.A. of S.P.M.?" Lynn asked.

"That is the 'American Association of Sanitary Papergoods 
Manufacturers,'" Elmer burbled.

"Like scratch paper and paper cups?" Lynn inquired.

Elmer reddened. "Not exactly. As a matter of fact they make toilet 
paper," he explained, "but they're just about the biggest group in the 
whole U.S. Now here's what I want you to do. We'll have the usual 
entertainment and activates, but to cap the climax I want you to 
organize a luau just like the one you put on to save the Pacific 
Paradise Hotel."

Lynn raised an auburn eyebrow. "Just like that one, Mr. McFarthingale?"

"Why, of course. Now don't be modest, Miss Charles. I wasn't there, 
unfortunately, but I overhead some of the kitchen help discussing that 
affair one day and they agreed it was the greatest thing that has ever 
been done in the islands in modern times. You're really quite famous 
for it, you know. Can you do the same thing here for the Hate-
Kaahumanu?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so," Lynn said doubtfully, "if you're sure that's 
what you want. All right, I'll get started with the arrangements right 
away."

"Fine. Oh, by the way, I understand the A.A. of S.P.M. members are 
inclined to be somewhat on the prudish and strait-laced side, so 
perhaps it would be well to tone down the ... er ... bawdier aspects of 
any entertainment you schedule."

"Now why the hell doesn't he make up his mind?" Lynn muttered to 
herself as Elmer went hurrying out of her office. "He sure can't have 
it both ways."

She took her problem to Koko, who suggested that perhaps Elmer had 
heard only an expurgated version of the Pacific Paradise affair, and he 
therefore recommended that she keep it clean.

"Most of those guys will bring their wives," he told her, "so, if I 
were you, I'd pass the word to Ellen to have her girls lay off the 
married men and be discreet with the single ones."

"Sounds like it will turn out to be a very exciting occasion," she 
predicted glumly. "Maybe I could put up a maypole and let them dance 
around it, or we could have a taffy pull and bob for apples. Get the 
whip out, Koko. I need a little stimulation."

Grinning evilly, his wicked, little eyes gleaming, he took the white 
leather whip from his dresser drawer as Lynn bent over a hassock and 
pulled her dress up to reveal her ass, faintly crisscrossed by fading 
marks from previous sessions of this kind.

"Lay it on," she commanded him. "I want to really feel it this time." 
She suffered through the first dozen blows, waiting patiently for her 
reward--the strange experience of mind expansion and greatly increased 
awareness that came when the pain diminished. He had doffed his 
trousers, and when she looked around to see that his cock was stiff, 
she motioned for him to stop. He sank to the carpet beside her and she 
rolled onto him from the hassock, her open mouth receiving his 
throbbing prick. She sucked him greedily, bobbing her head up and down 
so that her lips touched every part of the shaft while her tongue 
danced around the head.

"Do me in the ass," she begged him, reluctantly surrendering his cock 
before he could come in her mouth. "God but I'm hot! Fuck it into me 
hard, Koko."

He obliged her, his prick forcing its way through the confining 
stricture imposed by her sphincter muscle. Because he knew that was how 
she liked it, he was brutal and rough with her, and her muffled groans 
of pain increased his own excitement. He came too quickly to suit her, 
but she loved the hot gush of his jism in her ass.

She thanked him and left the room to return to her office and begin 
making plans for the convention. She drew up a tentative list of 
activities, but it somehow refused to go right, and she realized that 
it was hopeless in her present mood. For once, an hour with Koko and 
his little white whip had failed to satisfy her and calm her nerves. 
She found herself remembering Tony and regretting his death. She also 
thought of Wikiwiki and regretted his defection.

"Damn!" she exclaimed in vexation and left the office with no 
particular purpose in mind. She crossed the busy lobby and went out to 
the moist, tropical heat. She had walked through the extensive and 
beautifully landscaped grounds for some time when she came to a thick 
hedge, beyond which was the beach, the lazy, creamy surf and, hazy in 
the distance, the low-lying island of Lanai. The beach was crowded with 
tourists from the hotel, and she thought for the thousandth time how 
utterly ridiculous they looked in their Bermuda shorts, bright Aloha 
shirts and bikinis with their soft, fat, white, elderly bodies 
revealed. Disgusted, she turned away and walked along the hedge toward 
the snick-snicking sound of hedge trimmers. The gardener was a big man, 
burned black from the sun. She thought him quite the ugliest human she 
had ever beheld. His muscular body glistened with perspiration and his 
face was deeply scarred and puckered by the ravages of some old 
disease. He glanced at her as she approached and continued with his 
work.

"Hello," Lynn said, coming up to stand beside him. "I wonder if you 
would do me a favor."

"Sure," he said, putting down the hedge trimmer and turning to face 
her. "Whatsa mattah yo' need help fo'?" he asked pleasantly.

"I would like very much to have you fuck me," she told him calmly. 
"Over there under that pandanus tree looks like a good place. No one 
could see us there from either the hotel or the beach."

He stared at her with small, black eyes and absently scratched at a 
mosquito bite on his ribs. "Yo' no make fun?" he asked at last. "Yo' no 
kid?"

"No kid," she replied firmly. "Come on." She took his arm and walked 
with him to the shade of the pandanus tree and began removing her 
clothing. Not until she had stripped herself nude did he apparently 
decide that he believed her, that this miracle of the beautiful, white 
woman was, indeed, a fact. He wore only trousers, and she had to help 
him unbuckle the belt. He was too dazed to do anything but stare at the 
ripe, full, womanly body in front of him. She knelt on the grass and 
drew his pants down to his ankles, taking his big, soft prick in her 
hands and pressing it to her check before she touched it lovingly with 
her red lips and ran the tip of her tongue around the head of it. It 
grew, swelling like a fat, black puff adder rapidly stiffening. She ran 
her hands over his thighs and the cheeks of his ass. His body smelled 
strongly of perspiration and old urine, and the stink of him excited 
her.

"Hey, lady," he said, looking down at her from his gargoyle's face. 
"Yo' maybeso gonna suck my cock, hunh?"

She smiled up at him. "Later, if you can do it more than once. But I 
want you to fuck me first. Are you ready?"

He laughed good-naturedly. "Lady, I Old Moke. Ask any wahine ... she 
tell yo' Old Moke do it all day, all night, too." He dropped to his 
knees in front of her, gently pushed her over so that she fell on the 
grass, then mounted her and began working the bulbous head of his cock 
into her.

"No, no!" she protested. "Not like that, Moke. Like a bull with a cow. 
Shove it in hard and all the way."

He grunted and heaved his heavy hips at her. Not even Tony or Wikiwiki 
had been built like this, she thought, and she nearly swooned with 
sheer delight as she felt the thing go into her like a steel wedge bent 
on splitting her up the middle.

"That's it!" she sobbed. "Now fuck hell out of me! Pound me to pieces, 
Moke! Punch the shit out of me with that woman-killer of yours! Only 
make me come. Please make me come!"

"Yo' come," Moke promised as he continued fucking her. Five minutes 
later, he was proved right. She came to an orgasm that was so powerful 
it was almost like dropping from a great height into a sea of warm 
soup. The sensation struck her suddenly, engulfing her, swallowing her 
body and her mind, drowning her in the luxury of exquisite rapture that 
was beyond mere ecstasy. She gave herself over to it, letting the hot 
tide of it wash over her. Above her, the colors of the trees, the sky 
and the profusion of flowers ran together, not dimming but merging, 
flowing and swirling into a kaleidoscopic montage ... like one of the 
illusions claimed for LSD but which never really happen.

The orgasm faded, and her lust-glazed eyes came back into focus as 
Moke, having shot a gargantuan glob of glutinous semen into her, gave a 
final grunt and withdrew.

"That was beautiful!" she sighed. "It was simply beautiful! I'm so glad 
I found you. Do you like making love to me?"

"Sure, lady," Moke said, grinning down at her. "Yo' moh bettah fuck 
than any brown, wahine gal."

"Wonderful! I'll give you a key to my room. You come and sleep with me 
whenever you want. Okay? Now I want to suck your cock. I have to get 
back to my job, but we have time for that, and for one more fuck 
afterward. You like to suck pussy?"

"Sure, lady," Moke said.

Later that afternoon, Lynn, feeling refreshed and renewed, returned to 
her desk and worked out the program for entertainment of the ones who 
would be guests during the coming convention. It was going to be a 
sickeningly Milquetoast affair, she believed, but was probably just 
what Elmer would want. She wondered if the spirit of Evangeline, like a 
persistent and gloomy ghost, still hovered over the head of the dapper, 
fussy little man, influencing his policy. No, she decided, Elmer was 
naturally something of a prude and a square in his own right.

For the following week she was so busy she hardly had time for either 
Koko or Moke, but she had the satisfaction of knowing that everyone 
else was as hurried and flustered as she. She had to select the site 
for the luau, supervise the digging of the imu, the pit in which the 
pig would be roasted, order decorations, food and liquor, and engage 
another orchestra to relieve Kalola's group so that they would have 
time off with no break in the festivities. Kalola, she knew, was 
practicing like mad to learn the new routines, the cleaned-up versions 
of the dances she had been doing. Ellen, who through Lynn's influence, 
now had the title of Head Dietitian, was busy in the kitchen and also 
busy keeping her girls in line. Most of the waitresses were prostitutes 
who had been making a lot of extra money on the side since coming to 
work at the hotel.

It was the day before the convention people were due to arrive when 
Elmer dropped the bomb. He again rushed into Lynn's office clutching a 
cablegram. He was pale and distraught, his hand trembling as he 
reverently placed the yellow sheet on her desk.

"The old man!" he gasped weakly. "Euclid J. Barrington-Phaff himself is 
going to be here for the convention. My God! Miss Charles, are you sure 
that everything is all right? There will be no slip-ups ... no booboos? 
Good Lord! I never expected--"

Lynn shrugged. "Sure. All is groovy. Why the fuss?"

Elmer threw his hands up. "Heaven help us if you're not right. It all 
depends on you. You don't know Euclid J., or you wouldn't wonder at my 
agitation. He's a perfectionist and a rigid moralist. Let him find so 
much as a speck of dust on a potted palm, or note the swish of a hip on 
a waitress, and he may have us all shot at dawn. Join me in a moment of 
prayer that he hears not one word of complaint from any guest. No, 
never mind praying. We haven't time for that. We have to check and 
double-check everything. Don't fail me, Miss Charles!" he begged as he 
rushed from her office.

"Whew!" Lynn exclaimed. "No wonder Elmer doesn't have ulcers ... he 
gives them."

*   *   *

It was a three-day convention. The guests arrived on schedule, ate, 
drank, played, swam, slept and were entertained according to a schedule 
prearranged by Social Director Lynn Charles. The first two days passed 
in the orderly confusion that was to be expected and nothing--not one 
little thing--went wrong. No wife surprised her husband in bed with one 
of the waitresses, Kalola's dances were exotic and colorful without the 
least suggestion of being erotic, and Elmer's pulse and respiration 
lowered to within a few points of normal.

On the evening of the third and final day, an hour before the luau was 
due to begin, Euclid J. Barrington-Phaff arrived by private plane. Half 
an hour before the arrival of the great man, all of Elmer's worst fears 
were realized, his world turned into a nightmare of sheer horror. It 
began with the rumor that reached him via the bellboy channel, that one 
of the women, the wife of a conventioneer, had been caught on the beach 
being screwed by a beach boy. Not one of his beach boys. Why, Miss 
Charles had picked most of them for him herself!

When the next blow fell, he had no choice but to believe it, for it was 
a thing he witnessed himself.

Ellen, busy making salads, had not been surprised when she felt a warm 
hand slide up under her dress to caress her legs. She was used to that 
in the kitchen. She didn't bother to look around, sure it was either 
the cook or one of his helpers.

"Not now," she said. "There isn't time."

"Aw, fuck this damned convention!" It was the voice of the chef. "Ever 
since this shit started I haven't hardly got any from you at all."

"I know," she agreed sympathetically, "but I have to finish these 
salads. Why don't you just lift up my skirt and do it to me from 
behind? That way you won't interfere with my work."

"Okay," he replied and did as she had suggested.

Ellen went right on with her salad-making while the chef hunched at 
her, his cock sliding in and out of her as she bent over her work. She 
had a happy smile on her face when Elmer walked into the kitchen.

Elmer screamed, the chef came in Ellen's cunt, and Ellen cut her 
finger, all at the same time.

"What is the meaning of this?" Elmer screeched at them, his horrified 
eyes bugged out beyond the bridge of his nose as he stared at the 
chef's cock, now withdrawn and dropping from shock but still dripping 
on the floor.

"I don't know what the fuss is all about," Ellen said mildly. "We're 
supposed to be on our break right now anyway."

Uttering an unintelligible moan of anguish, Elmer rushed from the 
kitchen. He ran all the way to Lynn's room. Ellen was Lynn's friend. He 
wanted some explanation of the outrageous conduct he had witnessed, 
but, more than that, he wanted reassurance. Kalola was Lynn's friend 
and he remembered how the native girl had practically tried to rape him 
in his own office. Never mind the fact that she had very nearly 
succeeded. With friends like that ... He couldn't complete the thought. 
It was too terrible even to contemplate.

He was so driven by the demon of doubt that he reneged on his very 
proper, early training and forgot to knock. He opened the door to a 
sight such as he had never expected to witness in his rather narrow and 
stuffy lifetime. On Lynn's bed was a Hawaiian, so big, so dark and so 
ugly he could only be one person ... the gardener known as Old Moke. On 
top of Old Moke was Lynn Charles. They were both quite nude, and it was 
apparent that Moke had his cock in Lynn's cunt up to his ponderous 
balls. Standing over the two of them, also naked, was Koko, the bell 
captain. In his right hand was a white whip which he was industriously 
wielding, as evidenced by the red welts on the very attractive ass of 
Miss Charles.

Elmer fainted.

The participants in the orgy were not aware that he had come, seen and 
gone quietly to sleep just outside the door of the room, so they 
continued happily to enjoy themselves. Some other servants found Elmer 
there, carried him to his room and revived him. He sat up in bed, 
dismissed them and looked at his watch. He had seventeen minutes before 
his boss was due to arrive. He spent five of the seventeen minutes 
making a decision. It was not a question of whether or not to fire the 
three girls ... only a matter of when. What he would really like to do, 
he thought savagely, was to roast them in the imu instead of the pig, 
but that was impractical. Unfortunately, it was not even practical to 
fire them immediately. No, in this case, expediency must rule the day. 
He would pretend that nothing had happened. For, without Lynn and 
Kalola, the whole thing, the days and days of frantic preparation, 
would fall apart at Euclid J. Barrington-Phaff's expensively shod feet. 
Having made his decision, he arose, combed his hair, adjusted his tie 
and made sure his jock strap was firmly in place. He then, chin up, 
went bravely to the airport.

Euclid Barrington-Phaff was what is sometimes referred to as a solid 
citizen, although all two hundred fifty pounds of him was not really 
solid. Around what had once been his waist, he tended to run to 
blubber. Nevertheless, he was an imposing person, his air of pompous 
dignity surviving even the bright green Aloha shirt he wore and the 
shorts that exposed rolls of oyster-white fat above each knee. He 
acknowledged Elmer's greeting with that delicately adjusted mixture of 
dignity and joviality considered proper when dealing with upper-echelon 
employees. On the short ride to the hotel, he admitted that he was 
quite well satisfied with the financial returns of his investment to 
date, but he saw fit to remind Elmer that procuring the convention for 
the Hale-Kaahumanu was a stroke that had been accomplished strictly in 
New York.

"Yes, you're doing a fine job, I'm sure," he said, unbending enough to 
place a fat, fatherly hand on Elmer's knee. "But you worry me, my boy. 
You seem all tense and tight. Something bothering you?"

"Oh, no, sir, nothing at all," Elmer assured him hurriedly. 
"Everything's fine ... just fine."

Had Elmer at that moment been gifted with telescopic vision, and had he 
been able to see across the few miles of sugar cane fields and through 
the several walls that separated him from the kitchen of the Hale-
Kaahumanu, he might not have been able to answer so glibly. As a matter 
of fact, he probably would have fainted again. For it was at that 
moment that Ellen, piqued at what she considered unjust condemnation, 
stood by the giant punchbowl, dropping tablet after tablet of LSD into 
the fruity mixture.

She had a smile of serene contentment on her pretty face.



Chapter 12


Elmer McFarthingale should have been pleased and greatly relieved at 
the way things went, at least during the initial hour of the luau. The 
food was superb, the two native orchestras magnificent, and the series 
of singers and dancers outdid themselves. Even the punchbowl was very 
popular, although neither he nor the big boss sampled it, both being 
confirmed non-drinkers. He had a bad moment when the time came to 
introduce Lynn Charles to Euclid J. Barrington-Phaff, but the beautiful 
redhead looked as fresh and sweet and as innocent as a sophomore, 
accepting the hotel baron's compliments on the job she had turned out 
with becoming grace and modesty. Elmer could hardly believe that she 
was the same girl he had seen, less than two hours earlier, astride a 
naked Hawaiian while a naked Japanese lashed her fabulous fanny with a 
white whip.

Yes, Elmer should have been pleased, but he wasn't. Instead, he was 
running scared. After the things he had witnessed in the kitchen, and 
in Lynn's room, was there any limit to the catastrophic possibilities 
germane to this perilous predicament? Furthermore, although the big 
boss was apparently delighted with the program, his fat face beaming 
with joviality, Elmer sensed a strange and alarming mood that seemed to 
be slowly gripping the guests. True, the punchbowl was liberally spiked 
with several kinds of rum and brandy. But this was something more than 
mere drunkenness. From the assembled throng of revelers he got the 
distinct impression of a kind of lazy, dreamlike, to-hell-with-it-
anyway permissiveness, as though the bars of their inhibitions had not 
only been lowered but had been cast entirely aside. He noticed, for 
instance, that all the guests at the feast sat cross legged on the 
ground in the style traditional at luaus, but, whereas the women had 
begun the feast with skirts decorously pulled down to hide their knees, 
most of them now had allowed the hems to hike up until many thighs were 
bare nearly to the crotch. He glanced nervously at his boss to see if 
the big man had noticed, but apparently he had not.

A low stage had been erected at one end of the courtyard and it was 
there that the entertainers had been performing. A change in the tempo 
of the music drew the attention of everyone back to the stage as though 
they knew by instinct that the next act was to be the grand climax, the 
great finale for which all the other acts had been mere preliminaries.

Elmer shuddered. Kalola! She wouldn't dare!

He allowed himself to breathe again when she came running onto the 
stage to a fanfare of music. He saw that she was clad in a full-length 
grass skirt, halter top and at least six flower leis. The dance she did 
was one of the innocuous routines worked out earlier. It was greeted 
with applause but with no mighty ovation. Kalola smiled--and held up a 
small hand for silence. Elmer saw that she was going to speak, and fear 
crept back to walk with cold fingers up his spine. What was the little 
savage up to? This was not part of the program. Oh, well, maybe no one 
would be able to understand her anyway. Then she did the thing that 
eternally baffles mainlanders ... she abandoned the patois she most 
frequently used and spoke in clear, precise and perfectly enunciated 
English.

"Thank you," she said simply. "The dance you have just seen might 
properly be labeled a theatrical version of our native dances and bears 
about as much resemblance to the real thing as oatmeal mush does to 
poi. You've been a great audience and I think you are entitled to view 
the Hawaiian hula-hula in its original form, and in a way in which it 
has only rarely been done since the days of Kamekameha The Great." She 
signaled the orchestra and all of the instruments remained silent but 
for the dull, hypnotic beating of the drums and the sharper, rhythmic 
clatter of the hardwood sticks on gourds. She fumbled for a moment 
behind her, then her halter top came off to be tossed off the floor of 
the stage. Her brown, beautiful breasts bobbed free, thrusting 
themselves out through the garlands of flowers that decorated her 
bosom. Her feet began the shuffling dance and her hands to move in the 
melting, liquid grace that is the soul of the hula.

"McFarthingale, what is this?" Euclid J. Barrington-Phaff demanded, his 
face purpling and his small, piggy eyes glowing with rising 
indignation. "That dancer ... that savage ... she's ... why, she's 
completely topless!"

Elmer's answer was drowned in a roar of approval from the audience. 
They stamped and whistled and shouted. One of the men yelled the old, 
burlesque call of encouragement. "Take it off!" The others immediately 
took it up, and it became a chant, the swelling thunder of which 
drowned out even the drums. "Take it off! Take it off! Take it off!"

Kalola paused in her dance, regarded them quizzically with tilted head, 
then she grinned and quickly unfastened the top of her grass skirt. The 
flower leis followed it to the floor, and she was gloriously and 
primitively naked before them, her bronzed body gleaming in the murky, 
fitful light of the tiki torches that illumined the courtyard. The roar 
of appreciation that went up from the guests was deafening.

"Elmer!" Barrington-Phaff screamed, "do something about this at once!"

"Yes, sir," Elmer screamed back and summoned the nearest waiter. "Get 
up there on that stage and do something about this at once!" he yelled 
in the man's ear, unconsciously repeating Barrington-Phaff's own words.

The waiter, a Hawaiian, misunderstood his meaning. He had been sampling 
the punch, too. He ran laughing onto the stage, stripped himself of his 
white uniform and underwear and joined Kalola in the dance she was 
doing, his frenzied movements causing his cock to rotate like a 
majorette's baton.

"Oh, my God, no!" Elmer groaned, then manfully plowed and elbowed his 
way through the crowd that had now gathered around the stage. He made 
it and leaped up on the wooden platform, attempting to seize the wildly 
gyrating waiter.

"Leave him alone!" someone shouted. A woman jumped up behind him and 
began beating him on the back of the head with her handbag.

Barrington-Phaff was no coward. Seeing his employee thus set upon, he 
hurled his bulk stageward, knocking people right and left with his huge 
belly and massive shoulders. He almost made it before one of the men in 
the crowd tripped him and another one hit him in the eye as he was 
going down. The hotel employees who were professional servants--not the 
prostitutes, beach boys and bums Lynn had influenced Elmer to hire--
rallied to the defense of their manager and of the big boss from New 
York. The ensuing donnybrook now ranks in history as the only major 
engagement fought in the South Pacific since the end of World War II. 
Like gladiators of ancient Rome, the contestants battled it out in the 
arena of the courtyard, and it must be admitted that the ladies of the 
A.A. of S.P.M. acquitted themselves as well as their men. Even so, the 
doughty warriors representing the toilet paper manufacturing industry 
might have gone down to defeat had not Ellen and Lynn arrived with 
reinforcements. When Ellen's chippies joined the fray on the side of 
the guests, the outcome was decided. The regular hotel men were routed 
and the victors sank wearily to the ground to rest.

"For Christ's sake, look at that, would you?" one of the men exclaimed 
weakly. He pointed to the stage where Kalola was flat on her back and 
the waiter who had been dancing with her was atop her, his cock 
plunging in and out of her in time to the beat of one drum that still 
resounded.

"Let's all fuck!" one of the women yelled, the dope, the excitement of 
the fight, and the sight of Kalola's public display of raw sex, driving 
her to a pitch of reckless passion that would not be denied. Eager 
cries of agreement were the response to her suggestion, and the nearest 
man to her leaped astride her. She helped him rip her dress off and 
unzip his trousers. His wife, who had long coveted the body of his 
district sales manager, pulled her skirt up to her waist and advanced 
upon that worthy with lewd intent. She found him quite willing. In a 
matter of minutes they were all at it. The remarkable thing about this 
mass screwing was that, despite the confusion, not one husband 
committed the social error of fucking his own wife.

Elmer McFarthingale opened one eye. The other was swollen shut. The 
back of his head ached, and he would have raised a hand to explore the 
egg-sized lump there, had not several hundred pounds of bone, fat and 
muscle been lying on his arm. His left leg was similarly imprisoned by 
the heap of inert bodies of which his was apparently a member of the 
lowest layer. He looked about him as well as he could and beheld a 
scene of utter devastation as well as complete debauchery. Rolling and 
writhing among the remains of the feast were the guests, all busily and 
happily fornicating. Not far away, Lynn Charles crouched nakedly above 
a groaning man. She had his cock in her mouth and was sucking it 
avidly. On the stage, Kalola was still being fucked ... not by the 
waiter who had danced with her. Near Lynn, Ellen Canfield was on her 
hands and knees. One of the guests had his prick in her ass. Every time 
he thrust into her she farted and he laughed, seeming to find this 
musical type of intercourse hilariously funny.

Elmer lowered his gaze and found himself staring at one small, cold, 
unblinking eye that regarded him steadily with chillingly baleful 
malevolence.

"McFarthingale," Euclid J. Barrington-Phaff said distinctly, "you are 
fired."

"Yes, sir," Elmer answered ... and then he fainted.

*   *   *

The three girls disembarked from the inter-island plane at the 
International Airport in Honolulu.

"It seems to me," Lynn said, "that this is where we came in ... only we 
had a little money then and now we're flat broke. The plane fare 
cleaned us out. Suggestions anyone?"

"I guess I can always hitchhike out to the North Shore and try living 
with the hippies," Ellen said, "but after all the fun and excitement 
we've had, I don't think I could stand the quiet life."

"We're not going to break up ... not after what we've been through 
together," Kalola declared. "There are always some sailors around the 
airport. Give me an hour and I'll have taxi fare for us. We can go see 
if Joe Moto will let us have our old shack back."

"Oh, to hell with it," Lynn vetoed this idea. "Let's just start 
walking. Maybe you're right. Maybe good old Joe will give us a break. 
Come on."

They walked half the distance before a Filipino truck driver picked 
them up. They came at last to the Pacific Paradise Hotel and climbed 
down from the load of cement sacks on which they had been riding.

"It's good to be home," Kalola said. "Let's go see Joe."

They knocked several times before the door opened. There before them, 
clad only in swim trunks, was Wikiwiki.

"Wiki!" they screamed in chorus and charged him. He went down under the 
flying attack, offering only ineffectual resistance to the kisses that 
showered onto his face and the hands that clutched avidly at his 
crotch.

"Hey, quit it!" he managed to say at last as he sat up and brushed them 
away like annoying flies. "For chrissakes let me breathe!"

"What are you doing here?" they all asked in unison. "Why did you 
desert us on Maui?"

"One question at a time," he countered, parrying another pass at his 
genitals. "In the first place, I and my partner are the new owners of 
the Pacific Paradise Hotel, and to answer a question you haven't yet 
asked, your old Number Four is empty and waiting for you. In the second 
place, I didn't exactly desert." They were amazed to see him blush 
under his dark skin. "I sort of got married."

"You what?"

"You heard him," another voice said as the former Miss Barrington-Phaff 
entered from a bedroom door. "What he said was that he got married ... 
and I'll thank you to unhand his cock."

Speechlessly, the three girl stared at the gorgeous bride who wore 
nothing but a shorty nightgown and sandals.

"Yeh, we got married," Wikiwiki admitted. "Her papa disowned her, but 
she had enough bread of her own to buy this joint from Joe Moto. I've 
gone out of the beach boy business and into the hotel racket. As a 
matter of fact, we plan to turn the Pacific Paradise into the best 
damned whorehouse in the islands. We were just waiting for you three to 
show up to help us get started. I knew you'd come here. Without my 
brains, you were sure to screw things up for yourselves at the Hale-
Kaahumanu. You kids want in on this deal?"

"You bet we do," Ellen answered for the others, "only no more fancy 
schemes. I've said all along that fucking is the only safe, sane and 
respectable way for decent girls to make a living."

"Don't worry about it," Evangeline assured her. "Wiki's scheming days 
are over. You'll find some old friends of yours here. Koko is to be the 
assistant manager. His wife took the kids and went back to Japan."

"Oh, goody!" Lynn cried, clapping her hands together. "I hope he 
brought his little white whip."

"And we were lucky to get Old Moke to come over as gardener," 
Evangeline went on. "Oh, yes, and there is one other. We have to have a 
pimp. No decent brothel can operate without a pimp. This one has become 
a drunk, and he's a nasty, dirty, lecherous old man, but he'll be good 
at the job because he'll do anything for a buck. Here he is now."

The three girls looked up to see a shabby, bearded figure in the 
doorway. He had his hat in his hand and was standing there, blearily 
eyeing Ellen with lustful greed.

It was Matthew Longworth.

"Well, we might as well get started," Kalola said, standing up. "I saw 
a bunch of sailors down on the avenue as we came by."

"Before we get down to business," Lynn interrupted, "don't you think 
this calls for a little celebration ... a sort of combination 
homecoming and housewarming?"

"Like what?" Evangeline asked suspiciously.

"Oh," Lynn replied innocently, "I thought we might have a sort of party 
out on the lawn ... like a luau maybe?"


The End
